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beauty bright charms cheek court dear delight doth eyes face fair fall fear feel flowers gave give gone grace grave grow half hand happy head hear heart Heaven hope John keep kind king kiss Lady Landor laugh leave less light lines lips live look Lord lover maid meet mind Miss morning move nature ne'er never night o'er once pain pass past play pleasant pleasure poet poor pray prove reason rest rose round Savage seen sigh sing sleep smile soft song soon soul sure sweet taste tears tell thee There's thine thing Thomas thou thought tree true turn Unknown verse Walter wife wind wish young youth
Seite 30 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Seite 57 - HAPPY the man whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.
Seite 317 - LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won From the hard season gaining? Time will run On smoother, till Favonius reinspire The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun.
Seite 35 - Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten; In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move, To come to thee and be thy love.
Seite 32 - Her cheeks so rare a white was on, No daisy makes comparison, (Who sees them is undone), For streaks of red were mingled there, Such as are on a Catherine pear The side that's next the sun. Her lips were red, and one was thin, Compar'd to that was next her chin (Some bee had stung it newly) ; But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face ; I durst no more upon them gaze Than on the sun in July.
Seite 111 - Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant creature. And slander itself must allow him good nature; He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'da bumper; Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper! Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser? I answer no, no, for he always was wiser: Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat? His very worst foe can't accuse him of that. Perhaps he confided in men as they go, And so was too foolishly honest? ah, no! Then what was his failing? come tell it, and,...
Seite 109 - Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind: Tho' fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote ; Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining; Though equal...
Seite 54 - Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content ; The quiet mind is richer than a crown ; Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent ; The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown : Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss. The homely house that harbours quiet rest ; The cottage that affords no pride nor care ; The mean that 'grees with country music best ; The sweet consort of mirth and music's fare ; Obscured life sets down a type of bliss...
Seite 25 - Cause I see a woman kind ? Or a well disposed nature Joined with a lovely feature ? Be she meeker, kinder, than Turtle-dove or pelican: If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be ? Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love?
Seite 204 - ROSE AYLMER AH, WHAT avails the sceptred race! Ah ! what the form divine ! What every virtue, every grace ! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.