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Strona 294 - Barbara; She was in love, and he she loved proved mad And did forsake her. She had a song of "Willow"; An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune, And she died singing it.
Strona 295 - Her voice was good, and the ditty fitted for it ; it was that smooth song which was made by Kit Marlow, now at least fifty years ago ; and the milk-maid's mother sung an answer to it, which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh, in his younger days. They were old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good ; I think much better than the strong lines that are now in fashion in this critical age.
Strona 295 - Love is a torment of the mind, A tempest everlasting; And Jove hath made it of a kind Not well, nor full, nor fasting. Why so?
Strona 294 - I left this place and entered into the next field, a second pleasure entertained me; 'twas a handsome milk-maid, that had not yet attained so much age and wisdom as to load her mind with any fears of many things that will never be, as too many men too often do ; but she cast away all care, and sung like a nightingale ; her voice was good, and the ditty fitted for it: it was that smooth song, which was made by Kit Marlow...
Strona 294 - As I left this place, and entered into the next field, a second pleasure entertained me : 'twas a handsome milkmaid, that had not yet attained so much age and wisdom as to load her mind with any fears of many things that will never be...
Strona 293 - Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more ; Men were deceivers ever ; One foot in sea, and one on shore ; To one thing constant never: Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you Nithe and bonny ; Converting all your sounds of woe Into, Hey nonny, nonny. II. Sing no more ditties, sing no mo Of dumps so dull and heavy ; The fraud of men was ever so, Since summer first was leavy.
Strona 205 - Nae langer she wept^— her tears were a' spent,— Despair it was come, and she thought it content; She thought it content, but her cheek it grew pale, And she droop'd, like a lily broke down by the hail.
Strona 90 - Here, in cool grot and mossy cell, We rural Fays and Fairies dwell ; Though rarely seen by mortal eye, When the pale moon, ascending high, Darts through yon lines her quivering beams, We frisk it near these crystal streams.
Strona 131 - em is lost. With humble vows they first begin, Stealing unseen into the heart; But, by possession settled in, They quickly act another part. For beads and baubles we resign In ignorance our shining store; Discover nature's richest mine, And yet the tyrants will have more. Be wise, be wise, and do not try How he can court, or you be won: For love is but discovery, When that is made, the pleasure's done.