The Speaker's Garland: Comprising 100 Choice Selections ...

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Penn Publishing Company, 1904

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Стр. 167 - No, by the rood, not so: You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife; And — would it were not so ! — you are my mother.
Стр. 113 - Set in a note-book, learned, and conned by rote, To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep My spirit from mine eyes ! There is my dagger, And here my naked breast ; within, a heart Dearer than Plutus...
Стр. 167 - Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; Calls virtue hypocrite; takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there; makes marriage -vows As false as dicers...
Стр. 85 - She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: which I observing, Took once a pliant hour; and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart That I would all my pilgrimage dilate...
Стр. 71 - From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well : For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; Despite those titles, power and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored and unsung.
Стр. 140 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water ; the poop was beaten gold, Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them, the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Стр. 121 - I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling. And here and there a foamy flake Upon me as I travel, With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel; And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.
Стр. 32 - There is no death ! What seems so is transition ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.
Стр. 168 - Where every god did seem to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man : This was your husband. — Look you now, what follows: Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor?
Стр. 38 - Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight, Make me a child again just for to-night! Mother, come back from the echoless shore, Take me again to your heart as of yore ; Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair ; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep ; — Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! Backward, flow backward, oh, tide of the years!

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