The history of English poetry: from the close of the eleventh century to the commencement of the eighteenth century. To which are prefixed, three dissertations: 1. Of the origin of romantic fiction in Europe. 2. On the introduction of learning into England. 3. On the Gesta Romanorum (Google eBook)
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Page 513 - Sometime, we see a cloud that's dragonish, A vapour, sometime, like a bear, or lion, A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock, A forked mountain, or blue promontory With trees upon't, that nod unto the world, And mock our eyes with air : thou hast seen these signs; They are black vesper's pageants.
Page 534 - Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace : but there is, sir, an aiery of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question, and are most tyrannically clapped for't: these are now the fashion ; and so berattle the common stages (so they call them), that many, wearing rapiers, are afraid of goose-quills, and dare scarce come thither.
Page 202 - Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in mewe, And many a breme, and many a luce in stewe.
Page 59 - Dire was the tossing, deep the groans : Despair Tended the sick, busiest from couch to couch ; And over them triumphant Death his dart Shook, but delay'd to strike, though oft invoked With vows, as their chief good, and final hope.
Page 207 - A fewe termes coude he, two or three, That he had lerned out of som decree ; No wonder is, he herd it all the day. And eke ye knowen wel, how that a jay Can clepen watte, as wel as can the pope.
Page 210 - ... With him, ther was his sone, a yonge Squier, A lover, and a lusty bacheler, With lockes crull as they were laide in presse. Of twenty yere of age he was I gesse. Of his stature he was of even lengthe, And wonderly deliver, and grete of strengthe.
Page 201 - Of smale houndes had she, that she fedde With rosted flesh, or milk and wastel-breed, But sore weep she if oon of hem were deed, Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte; And al was conscience and tendre herte.
Page 208 - His botes souple, his hors in gret estat, Now certainly he was a fayre prelat. He was not pale as a forpined gost. A fat swan loved he best of any rost. His palfrey was as broune as is a bery.
Page 535 - Weep with me, all you that read This little story : And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry. 'Twas a child that so did thrive In grace and feature, As heaven and nature seemed to strive Which owned the creature.
Page 518 - Theophylact," says Cedrenus, as translated by Warton, " introduced the practice, which prevails to this day, of scandalizing God and the memory of his saints, on the most splendid and popular festivals, by indecent and ridiculous songs, and enormous shoutings, even in the midst of those sacred hymns which we ought to offer to divine grace for the salvation of our souls.