Sketches of English Literature: With Considerations on the Spirit of the Times, Men, and Revolutions, Том 1H. Colburn, 1836 |
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Стр. 116
... faire branch , quhare written was with gold , On every lefe , wicht branchis bryt and schen , In compas fair full plesandly to sene , A plane sentence , quwhich , as I can devise And have in mynd , said ryt on this wise . Awake ! awake ...
... faire branch , quhare written was with gold , On every lefe , wicht branchis bryt and schen , In compas fair full plesandly to sene , A plane sentence , quwhich , as I can devise And have in mynd , said ryt on this wise . Awake ! awake ...
Стр. 117
... faire did present ; With wyngis spred hir wayis furth sche went . Quhilk up anon I tuke , and as I gesse , Ane hundred tymes , or I forthir went , I have it red , with hertfull glaidnesse , And half with hope and half with dred it hent ...
... faire did present ; With wyngis spred hir wayis furth sche went . Quhilk up anon I tuke , and as I gesse , Ane hundred tymes , or I forthir went , I have it red , with hertfull glaidnesse , And half with hope and half with dred it hent ...
Стр. 123
... Faire Christabelle did dye . Thus did the loves expire like Pyramus and Thisbe . The French ballad says of the latter Ils étaient si parfaits Qu'on disaient qu'ils étaient Les plus beaux de la ville- verses breathing the purest nature ...
... Faire Christabelle did dye . Thus did the loves expire like Pyramus and Thisbe . The French ballad says of the latter Ils étaient si parfaits Qu'on disaient qu'ils étaient Les plus beaux de la ville- verses breathing the purest nature ...
Стр. 124
... that was too longe , Is now too short for mee . And all is with one childe of yours , I feel sturre at my side , My gowne of greene it is too strait ; Before it was too wide . If the childe be mine , faire Ellen , he 124 BALLADS AND SONGS .
... that was too longe , Is now too short for mee . And all is with one childe of yours , I feel sturre at my side , My gowne of greene it is too strait ; Before it was too wide . If the childe be mine , faire Ellen , he 124 BALLADS AND SONGS .
Стр. 125
... faire Ellen , he sayd , Be mine , as you tell mee ; Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both , Take them your own to bee . If the childe be mine , faire Ellen , he sayd , Be mine as you do sweare ; Then take you Cheshire and ...
... faire Ellen , he sayd , Be mine , as you tell mee ; Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both , Take them your own to bee . If the childe be mine , faire Ellen , he sayd , Be mine as you do sweare ; Then take you Cheshire and ...
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Anglo-Saxon ballad barbarous bard beauty bishops castle catholic century character Charles Childe Waters Christ christian church civil clergy composed court Dante Dargo death Earl Elector of Saxony Elizabeth Ellen England ENGLISH LITERATURE epoch Erasmus faith father fayre France French French language genius glory hand haue heaven Henry VIII heresies honour idiom James Juliet King knights ladies ladye Latin laws liberty lives Lord Luther manners ment middle ages Milton mind minstrels Molière monk nations nature never noble Norman Parliament Petrarch poem poet poetry political pope priest princes protestantism Queen reformation reign religion replies revolution Robert Wace Roman Rome Romeo Romeo and Juliet says scenes Scotland Shak Shakspeare Shakspeare's sing society song spirit style sword taste thee thing third estate thou tomb tragedy translated troubadours trouvère verse whilst William William the Conqueror words writings
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Стр. 276 - I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs, To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that...
Стр. 276 - O Proserpina ! For the flowers now that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon ! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath...
Стр. 315 - No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe.
Стр. 270 - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east ; Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund Day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops.
Стр. 314 - That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
Стр. 271 - Nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads. I have more care to stay than will to go. Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so. How is't, my soul ? Let's talk.
Стр. 276 - That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength — a malady Most incident to maids ; bold oxlips and The crown imperial ; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one ! O, these I lack, To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend, To strew him o'er and o'er ! Flo.
Стр. 231 - For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art, Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book, Those Delphic lines with deep impression took ; Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble, with too much conceiving ; And, so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie, That kings, for such a tomb, would wish to die.
Стр. 314 - In me. thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west ; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
Стр. 231 - What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones, The labour of an age in piled stones, Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of Fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument.