The rival roses, by the author of 'Royalists and Roundheads'.

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Page 61 - With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace whom all commend.
Page 277 - Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success: that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'd jump the life to come. But in these cases We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor; this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips.
Page 173 - ... ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick ; Who cried aloud, " What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence...
Page 88 - Twas to bring you By degrees to mortification : Listen. Dirge. Hark, now every thing is still ; The screech-owl, and the whistler shrill, Call upon our dame aloud, ' And bid her quickly d'on her shroud.
Page 301 - I'll henceforth be indeed a father ; never,. Never more thus expose, but cherish thee, Dear as the vital warmth that feeds my life ; Dear as these eyes that weep in fondness o'er thee.
Page 182 - Love wont to gae! 1 leant my back unto an aik, I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true Love did lichtly me. O waly waly, but love be bonny A little time while it is new; But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld And fades awa
Page 92 - THOU, to whom the world unknown With all its shadowy shapes is shown ; Who seest appall'd th' unreal scene, While Fancy lifts the veil between : Ah, Fear! ah, frantic Fear) I see, I see thee near. I know thy hurried step, thy haggard eye ! Like thee I start, like thee disorder'd fly.
Page 90 - Fear not, till Birnam wood Do come to Dunsinane; — and now a wood Comes toward Dunsinane. — Arm, arm, and out ! If this, which he avouches, does appear, There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, And wish the estate o'the world were now undone. — Ring the alarum bell : — Blow, wind ! come, wrack ! At least we'll die with harness on our back.
Page 41 - Show me thy wound of soul — Weep'st thou, the ties of nature or of passion Torn by the hand of Heaven — Oh no! full well I deemed no gentler feeling Woke the dark lightning of thy withering eye — What fiercer spirit is it tears thee thus? Show me the horrid tenant of thy heart — Or wrath, or hatred, or revenge, is there — Stranger.
Page 76 - Why did you say my lip was sweet, And made the scarlet pale? And why did I, young witless maid ! Believe the flattering tale?

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