The British Poets: Including Translations ...

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C. Whittingham, 1822

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Strona 62 - ... quight: And their great mother Venus did lament The losse of her deare brood, her deare delight: Her hart was pierst with pitty at the sight, When walking through the Gardin them she spyde, Yet no'te...
Strona 8 - But yet the end is not" — There Merlin stayd, As overcomen of the spirites powre, Or other ghastly spectacle dismayd, That secretly he saw, yet note discoure : Which suddein...
Strona 189 - How may these rimes, so rude as doth appeare, Hope to endure, sith workes of heavenly wits Are quite devourd, and brought to nought by little bits!
Strona 152 - Woven with gold and silke so close and nere That the rich metall lurked privily, As faining to be hidd from envious eye ; Yet here, and there, and every where, un wares It shewd itselfe and shone unwillingly; Like to' a discolourd snake, whose hidden snares Through the greene gras his long bright burnisht back declares.
Strona 51 - Her Berth was of the wombe of morning dew, And her conception of the ioyous prime; And all her whole creation did her shew Pure and unspotted from all loathly crime That is ingenerate in fleshly slime.
Strona 167 - To her I sing of love, that loveth best, And best is lov'd of all alive, I weene ; To her this song most fitly is addrest, The Queene of love, and Prince of peace from heaven blest.
Strona 32 - The baser wit, whose ydle thoughts alway Are wont to cleave unto the lowly clay, It stirreth up to sensuall desire, And in lewd slouth to wast his carelesse day; But in brave sprite it kindles goodly fire, That to all high desert and honour doth aspire, n.
Strona 63 - Right in the middest of that Paradise, There stood a stately Mount, on whose round top A gloomy grove of mirtle trees did rise, Whose shadie boughes sharpe steele did never lop, Nor wicked beasts their tender buds did crop, But like a girlond compassed the hight, And from their...
Strona 167 - THE rugged forhead, that with grave foresight Welds kingdomes causes and affaires of state, My looser rimes, I wote, doth sharply wite For praising love as I have done of late, And magnifying lovers...
Strona 232 - But whosoever contrarie doth prove, Might not the same about her middle weare, But it would loose, or else asunder teare.

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