Kentish Poets: A Series of Writers in English Poetry, Natives of Or Residents in the County of Kent; with Specimens of Their Compositions, and Some Account of Their Lives and Writings, Volumes 1-2G. Wood, 1821 |
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Page vi
... wind Doth check the tender blossoms of the spring . Well fares the man , howe'er his cates do taste , That tables not with foul suspicion : And he but pines among his delicates , Whose troubled mind is stuff'd with discontent . My ...
... wind Doth check the tender blossoms of the spring . Well fares the man , howe'er his cates do taste , That tables not with foul suspicion : And he but pines among his delicates , Whose troubled mind is stuff'd with discontent . My ...
Page xv
... that would sure reveal him : And seven years after , being safe in London , There came a sprig of fern borne by the wind , Into the room wheras the murderer was , At sight whereof he suddenly start up , And then INTRODUCTION . XV.
... that would sure reveal him : And seven years after , being safe in London , There came a sprig of fern borne by the wind , Into the room wheras the murderer was , At sight whereof he suddenly start up , And then INTRODUCTION . XV.
Page 12
... wind , or weather I judge by mine ears ; Malice assaults that righteousness should have.- Sure I am , my Bryan , this wound shall heal again ; But yet alas ! the scar shall still remain . In this confinement , Wyatt spent several months ...
... wind , or weather I judge by mine ears ; Malice assaults that righteousness should have.- Sure I am , my Bryan , this wound shall heal again ; But yet alas ! the scar shall still remain . In this confinement , Wyatt spent several months ...
Page 27
... wind . Each thing methought complaining in their kind . Why then , alas ! doth not she on me rue ? Or is her heart so hard that no pity May in it sink , my joy for to renew ? O stony heart ! who hath thus framed thee So cruel that art ...
... wind . Each thing methought complaining in their kind . Why then , alas ! doth not she on me rue ? Or is her heart so hard that no pity May in it sink , my joy for to renew ? O stony heart ! who hath thus framed thee So cruel that art ...
Page 29
... wind : — But well to say , and so to mean , That sweet accord is seldom seen . That the eye betrayeth always the secret affections of the heart . And if an eye may save or slay , And strike more deep than weapon long ; And if an eye by ...
... wind : — But well to say , and so to mean , That sweet accord is seldom seen . That the eye betrayeth always the secret affections of the heart . And if an eye may save or slay , And strike more deep than weapon long ; And if an eye by ...
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Common terms and phrases
Albertus Morton appear beauty born breast bright Canterbury character charms court dear death delight divine dost doth dread Duncombe Earl earth Eclogues ev'ry eyes fair fame fear flame flowers gentle Gentleman's Magazine Giles Fletcher give grace grief groves hand happy hast hath Hawkesworth heart heaven honour John Duncombe John Lilly Kent Kentish King lady learned light live Lord lyre majesty mind muse never Nicholas Amhurst night nymphs o'er pain passion peace Phineas Fletcher plain poem poet poetical poetry pow'r praise pride Queen reign sacred shade shepherds shew shine sighs sight sing Sir Henry Wotton Sir Philip Sidney Sir Thomas Wyatt smile soft song Sonnet soon soul stanza swain sweet tears thee thine thing Thirsil thou thought translation unto verse virtue whilst winds wings writer youth
Popular passages
Page 192 - Come on, sir; here's the place: — stand still. — How fearful And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
Page 249 - How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will, Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill!
Page 61 - Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Page 23 - And wilt thou leave me thus ? Say nay ! say nay ! And wilt thou leave me thus, That hath loved thee so long In wealth and woe among : And is thy heart so strong As for to leave me thus ? Say nay ! say nay...
Page 147 - Shepherds, weep no more ! For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...
Page 184 - At cards for kisses — Cupid paid; He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how), With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin; All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes, She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this to thee? What shall, alas! become of me? THE SONGS OF BIRDS What bird so sings, yet...
Page 21 - Now cease, my lute, this is the last Labour, that thou and I shall waste; And ended is that we begun : Now is this song both sung and past; My lute, be still, for I have done.
Page 250 - Whose armour is his honest thought And simple truth his utmost skill! Whose passions not his masters...
Page 246 - Nature seem'd in love: The lusty sap began to move; Fresh juice did stir th' embracing vines, And birds had drawn their valentines, The jealous Trout, that low did lie, Rose at a well dissembled fly; There stood my friend with patient skill, Attending of his trembling quill.
Page 215 - ... the wood, That warble forth Dame Nature's lays, Thinking your passions understood By your weak accents; what's your praise, When Philomel her voice shall raise? You violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year, As if the spring were all your own, What are you, when the Rose is blown? So when my Mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind, By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not designed Th' eclipse and glory...