The Poetical Works of William Shenstone: In Two Volumes. Collated with the Best Editions:

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Printed at the Stanhope Press, by Charles Whittingham, ... for John Sharpe, 1808
 

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Page 159 - Eftsoons the urchins to their tasks repair; Their books of stature small they take in hand, Which with pellucid horn secured are; To save from finger wet the letters fair: The work so gay, that on their back is seen, St. George's high achievements does declare; On which thilk wight that has y-gazing been Kens the forth-coming rod, unpleasing sight, I ween!
Page 44 - What it is to admire and to love, And to leave her we love and admire. Ah ! lead forth my flock in the morn, And the damps of each evening repel ; Alas ! I am faint and forlorn — • I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell.
Page 158 - Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve, Hymned such psalms as Sternhold forth did mete, If winter 'twere, she to her hearth did cleave, But in her garden found a...
Page 154 - AH me! full sorely is my heart forlorn, To think how modest Worth neglected lies While partial Fame doth with her blasts adorn Such deeds alone, as pride and pomp disguise; Deeds of ill sort, and mischievous emprise: Lend me thy clarion, goddess!
Page 143 - Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome at an inn.
Page 155 - ... mean attire, A matron old, whom we Schoolmistress name: Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame; They grieven sore in piteous durance pent, Aw'd by the...
Page 120 - If through the garden's flowery tribes I stray, Where bloom the jasmines that could once allure, "Hope not to find delight in us," they say, "For we are spotless, Jessy; we are pure.
Page 57 - Their colours and their sash he wore, And in the fatal dress was found ; And now he must that death endure, Which gives the brave the keenest wound.
Page 45 - I fed on the smiles of my dear ? They tell me, my favourite maid. The pride of that valley, is flown ; Alas ! where with her I have stray'd I could wander with pleasure, alone.
Page 157 - One ancient hen she took delight to feed, The plodding pattern of the busy dame, Which ever and anon, impell'd by need, Into her school, begirt with chickens, came; Such favour did her past deportment claim: And if neglect had lavish'd on the ground Fragment of bread, she would collect the same; For well she knew, and quaintly could expound, What sin it were to waste the smallest crumb she found.

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