Essays on the DramaJ.W. Parker and son, 1858 - 256 pàgines |
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Passatges populars
Pàgina 97 - My love is fair, my love is gay, As fresh as bin the flowers in May, And of my love my roundelay, My merry, merry, merry roundelay, Concludes with Cupid's curse,— They that do change old love for new, Pray gods they change for worse ! Ambo simul.
Pàgina 108 - Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears : Yet slower, yet ; O faintly, gentle springs : List to the heavy part the music bears, Woe weeps out her division, when she sings. Droop herbs and flowers, Fall grief in showers, Our beauties are not ours...
Pàgina 99 - Adieu, farewell earth's bliss, This world uncertain is; Fond are life's lustful joys, Death proves them all but toys. None from his darts can fly: I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us! Rich men, trust not in wealth, Gold cannot buy you health; Physic himself must fade, All things to end are made. The plague full swift goes by; I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us! Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour: Brightness falls from the air, Queens...
Pàgina 100 - Strength stoops unto the grave : Worms feed on Hector brave ; Swords may not fight with fate : Earth still holds ope her gate. Come, come, the bells do cry ; I am sick, I must die.
Pàgina 113 - Where the nation live so free, And so merry as do we ? Be it peace, or be it war, Here at liberty we are, And enjoy our ease and rest: To the field we are not pressed; Nor are called into the town, To be troubled with the gown.
Pàgina 97 - His golden locks time hath to silver turned; O time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing ! His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurned, But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing: Beauty, strength, youth are flowers but fading seen; Duty, faith, love are roots, and ever green. His helmet now shall make a hive for bees; And, lovers...
Pàgina 100 - Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour : Brightness falls from the air; Queens have died young and fair; Dust hath closed Helen's eye; I am sick, I must die. Lord have mercy on us!
Pàgina 98 - And feed on prayers, which are age his alms; But though from court to cottage he depart, His saint is sure of his unspotted heart. And when he saddest sits in homely cell, He'll teach his swains this carol for a song: Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well, Cursed be the souls that think her any wrong!
Pàgina 112 - Dear, again back recall To this light, A stranger to himself and all; Both the wonder and the story Shall be yours, and eke the glory : I am your servant, and your thrall.
Pàgina 112 - Beauty clear and fair. Where the air Rather like a perfume dwells ; Where the violet and the rose Their blue veins in blush disclose. And come to honour nothing else. Where to live near. And planted there. Is to live, and still live new ; Where to gain a favour is More than light, perpetual bliss.