the poetical works of mathews prior with life

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Strona 74 - Chloe noted her desire, That I should sing, that I should play. My lyre I tune, my voice I raise ; But with my numbers mix my sighs : And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise, I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.
Strona 274 - Slothful disorder fill'd his stable; And sluttish plenty deck'd her table. Their beer was strong; their wine was port; Their meal was large ; their grace was short.
Strona 127 - And youth, seduc'd from friends and fame, Must give up age to want and shame. Let her behold the frantic scene, The women wretched, false the men : And when, these certain ills to shun, She would to thy embraces run ; Receive her with extended arms : Seem more delighted with her charms : Wait on her to the park and play : Put on good humour ; make her gay : Be to her virtues very kind ; Be to her faults a little blind ; Let all her ways be unconfin'd ; And clap your padlock — on her mind.
Strona 211 - The wordes on the splene. Ye shape some wyle me to begyle, And stele from me, I wene : Than were the case worse than it was, And I more wo-begone : For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone.
Strona 227 - Thou, ere thou goest, unhappiest of thy kind, Must leave the habit and the sex behind. No longer shall thy comely tresses break In flowing ringlets on thy snowy neck ; Or sit behind thy head, an ample round, In graceful...
Strona 200 - To love them wele ; for never a dele They love a man agayne : For...
Strona 193 - Moved in the orb, pleased with the chimes, The foolish creature thinks he climbs : But here or there, turn wood or wire, He never gets two inches higher. So fares it with those merry blades, That frisk it under Pindus' shades. In noble songs, and lofty odes, They tread on stars, and talk with Gods ; Still dancing in an airy round, Still pleased with their own verses' sound ; Brought back, how fast soe'er they go, Always aspiring, always low.
Strona v - Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire ? I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor services to do, till you require. Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you...
Strona 197 - Yes, every poet is a fool ; By demonstration Ned can show it ; Happy could Ned's inverted rule Prove every fool to be a poet.
Strona 262 - On his death-bed poor Lubin lies, His spouse is in despair ; With frequent sobs and mutual cries, They both express their care. " ' A different cause,' says Parson Sly, ' The same effect may give ; Poor Lubin fears that he shall die, His wife that he may live.

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