The Works of the British Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical ...Robert Anderson Arch, 1795 |
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الصفحة 66
... Grief wears and leffens that tear's breath affords . Sad hearts , the lefs they feem the more they are ; ( So guiltieft men stand muteft at the bar ) Not that they know not , feel not , their estate , But extreme fense hath made them ...
... Grief wears and leffens that tear's breath affords . Sad hearts , the lefs they feem the more they are ; ( So guiltieft men stand muteft at the bar ) Not that they know not , feel not , their estate , But extreme fense hath made them ...
الصفحة 75
... grief itself , which now alone Is left is , is without proportion . She , by whole lines proportion should be Examin'd , measure of all fymmetry , Whom had that Ancient feen , who thought fouls made Of harmony , he would at next have ...
... grief itself , which now alone Is left is , is without proportion . She , by whole lines proportion should be Examin'd , measure of all fymmetry , Whom had that Ancient feen , who thought fouls made Of harmony , he would at next have ...
الصفحة 84
... grief get fo high as heav'n , that quire , Forgetting this their new joy , would defire ( With grief to see him ) he had stay'd below , To rectify our errors they foreknow . Is th ' other centre , reason , faster then ? Where fhould we ...
... grief get fo high as heav'n , that quire , Forgetting this their new joy , would defire ( With grief to see him ) he had stay'd below , To rectify our errors they foreknow . Is th ' other centre , reason , faster then ? Where fhould we ...
الصفحة 86
... Grief in great Alexander's great excess , Who at his friend's death made whole towns di Their walls and bulwarks which became them b Do not , fair foul ! this facrifice refuse , That in thy grave I do inter my Muse , Which by my grief ...
... Grief in great Alexander's great excess , Who at his friend's death made whole towns di Their walls and bulwarks which became them b Do not , fair foul ! this facrifice refuse , That in thy grave I do inter my Muse , Which by my grief ...
الصفحة 87
... grief that she is gone : But we may ' scape that fin , yet weep as much ; Our tears are due , because we are not fuch . Some tears , that knot of friends , her death muft coft , Because the chain is broke , though no link lost . ELEGY ...
... grief that she is gone : But we may ' scape that fin , yet weep as much ; Our tears are due , because we are not fuch . Some tears , that knot of friends , her death muft coft , Because the chain is broke , though no link lost . ELEGY ...
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againſt beauty becauſe beft beſt blood breaft caft caufe cauſe courſe death defire doft doth earth elfe eyes fafe faid fair fame fcorn fear feek feem feem'd feen fenfe fhall fhame fhepherd fhew fhine fhould fide fighs fight filk filver fince fing fire firft firſt flain fleep fome fong foon forrow foul fpirits fpring ftand ftate ftill ftreams ftrong fuch fure fwain fweet glory grace grief hand hath heart heav'n himſelf honour itſelf king laft laſt lefs light live loft Lord lov'd moft moſt mufe muft muſt never night nymphs pleaſe pleaſure pow'r praiſe prefent reft rife ſhall ſhe ſpeak ſpent ſtand ſtate ſtay ſtill ſuch ſweet tears thee thefe themſelves theſe thine things thofe thoſe thou thought thouſand unto uſe verfe virtue Whilft whofe whoſe worfe
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 537 - Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
الصفحة 536 - While we can, the sports of love. Time will not be ours for ever, He, at length, our good will sever; Spend not then his gifts in vain. Suns that set may rise again: But if once we lose this light, 'Tis with us perpetual night.
الصفحة 590 - IF I freely may discover What would please me in my lover, I would have her fair and witty, Savouring more of court than city ; A little proud, but full of pity ; Light and humorous in her toying ; Oft...
الصفحة 533 - The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare, rise; I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further to make thee a room; Thou art a monument, without a tomb, And art alive still, while thy book doth live And we have wits to read and praise to give.
الصفحة 33 - When my grave is broke up again Some second guest to entertain (For graves have learned that womanhead To be to more than one a bed), And he that digs it spies A bracelet of bright hair about the bone...
الصفحة 543 - No, Both wills were in one stature ; And as that wisdom had decreed, The Word was now made Flesh indeed, And took on him our nature. What comfort by Him do we win, Who made Himself the price of sin, To make us heirs of Glory ! To see this babe, all innocence, A martyr born in our defence : Can man forget this...
الصفحة 590 - Though I am young and cannot tell Either what Death or Love is well, Yet, I have heard they both bear darts, And both do aim at human hearts : And then again, I have been told, Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold ; So that I fear they do but bring Extremes to touch, and mean one thing. As in a ruin we it call One thing to be blown up or fall ; Or to our end, like way may have By...
الصفحة 30 - To move, but doth, if th' other do. And though it in the centre sit, Yet, when the other far doth roam, It leans, and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must, Like th' other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end where I begun.
الصفحة 23 - Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late schoolboys and sour prentices; Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride, Call country ants to harvest offices; Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
الصفحة 518 - Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay, Exacted by thy fate, on the just day. O, could I lose all father, now! For why Will man lament the state he should envy? To have so soon 'scaped world's and flesh's rage, And, if no other misery, yet age! Rest in soft peace; and, asked, say: Here doth lie Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry...