Poetry of the English Renaissance 1509-1660John William Hebel, Hoyt Hopewell Hudson |
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Page 5
... thou , foul cat that thou art , The self - same hound Might thee confound That his own lord bote , Might bite asunder thy throat ! 160 Of Ind the greedy gripes Might tear out all thy tripes ! Of Arcady the bears Might pluck away thine ...
... thou , foul cat that thou art , The self - same hound Might thee confound That his own lord bote , Might bite asunder thy throat ! 160 Of Ind the greedy gripes Might tear out all thy tripes ! Of Arcady the bears Might pluck away thine ...
Page 12
... Art thou Heywood , with the mad merry wit ? Yea , forsooth , master ! that same is even hit . Art thou Heywood that applieth mirth more than thrift ? Yea , sir , I take merry mirth a golden gift . Art thou Heywood that hath made many ...
... Art thou Heywood , with the mad merry wit ? Yea , forsooth , master ! that same is even hit . Art thou Heywood that applieth mirth more than thrift ? Yea , sir , I take merry mirth a golden gift . Art thou Heywood that hath made many ...
Page 20
... thou art , tears To wail my wrong . Blame not my lute . Blame but the self that hast mis- done Death and despair afore my face , My days decays , my grief doth grow ; The cause thereof is in this place , Whom cruelty doth still con ...
... thou art , tears To wail my wrong . Blame not my lute . Blame but the self that hast mis- done Death and despair afore my face , My days decays , my grief doth grow ; The cause thereof is in this place , Whom cruelty doth still con ...
Page 58
... thou art , and whence , for well I see Thou canst not dure , with sorrow thus attaint . " And with that word of sorrow , all forfaint She lookėd up , and prostrate as she lay , With piteous sound , lo , thus she gan to say : 90 100 ...
... thou art , and whence , for well I see Thou canst not dure , with sorrow thus attaint . " And with that word of sorrow , all forfaint She lookėd up , and prostrate as she lay , With piteous sound , lo , thus she gan to say : 90 100 ...
Page 74
... thou that reason art without and therewith void of woe . I live , and so dost thou , 20 but I live all in pain , And subject am to her , alas , that makes my grief her gain . Thou livest , but feelst no grief , no love doth thee torment ...
... thou that reason art without and therewith void of woe . I live , and so dost thou , 20 but I live all in pain , And subject am to her , alas , that makes my grief her gain . Thou livest , but feelst no grief , no love doth thee torment ...
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Common terms and phrases
A. B. Grosart A. H. Bullen Astrophel and Stella ballad beauty Ben Jonson blood brave breast breath bright crown dance dear death delight divine dost doth earth England's Helicon English epigrams eyes face fair fame fear fire flame flowers Francis Davison George Gascoigne give glory grace Greensleeves grief hand hast hath heart heaven Hero and Leander honor Introduction and Notes J. P. Collier king kiss lady light live London look Lord love's lover Madrigals Mary Ambree mind mistress muse ne'er never night nought pain Petrarch play pleasure poems poetry poets poor praise queen rest rhyme scorn shalt shepherd shine sighs sight sing sleep smile sorrow soul spring stars sweet tears tell thee thine things thou art thought true unto verse weep whilst wind words youth
Popular passages
Page 288 - SINCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part. Nay, I have done, you get no more of me! And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free. Shake hands for ever! Cancel all our vows! And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his...
Page 510 - Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time! And all the Muses still were in their prime, When like Apollo he came forth to warm Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm! Nature herself was proud of his designs, And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines...
Page 135 - If all the world and love were young And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love.
Page 852 - What wondrous life in this I lead ! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine, and curious peach, Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Page 506 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere; A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, 7° Although it fall and die that night, It was the plant and flower of light.
Page 510 - Yet must I not give Nature all : thy art, My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part, For though the poet's matter Nature be, His art doth give the fashion, and that he Who casts to write a living line must sweat (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat Upon the Muses...
Page 800 - He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know At first sight if the bird be flown ; But what fair well or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep.
Page 852 - Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less, Withdraws into its happiness: The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find ; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds and other seas, Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade.
Page 851 - While all the flowers and trees do close To weave the garlands of repose. Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, And Innocence thy sister dear! Mistaken long, I sought you then In busy companies of men: Your sacred plants, if here below, Only among the plants will grow: Society is all but rude To this delicious solitude. No white nor red was ever seen So am'rous as this lovely green. Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, Cut in these trees their mistress' name; Little, alas, they know or heed How far these...
Page 865 - Let us roll all our strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one ball: And tear our pleasures with rough strife, Thorough the iron gates of life.