The Poems of Sir John Beaumont, Bart

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private circulation, 1869 - 334 páginas

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Página xxiii - What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, As if that every one (from whence they came) Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, And had resolved to live a fool the rest Of his dull life...
Página lvi - Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine: Yet one I would select from that proud throng, Partly because they blend me with his line, And partly that I did his sire some wrong...
Página lx - I care not, fortune, what you me deny : You cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face ; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave : Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
Página xxv - This Figure, that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut ; Wherein the Graver had a strife With Nature, to out-doo the life: O, could he but have drawne his wit As well in brasse, as he hath hit His face ; the print would then surpasse All that was ever writ in brasse. But, since he cannot, Reader, looke Not on his Picture, but his Booke.
Página 126 - Amanda's stately gait to see? How her feet tempt! how soft and light she treads, Fearing to wake the flowers from their beds! Yet from their sweet green pillows everywhere, They start and gaze about to see my Fair.
Página 51 - in which the lion stands " Is blood, and blood I offer to the hands " Of daring foes ; but never shall my flight ' ' Die black my lion, which as yet is white.
Página 80 - I am thine end ; Felicity my name ; The best of wishes, pleasures, riches, fame, Are humble vassals which my throne attend, And make you mortals happy when I send : In my left hand delicious fruits I hold, To...
Página 127 - Where honey-combs so sweet and plenty are. Look how that pretty modest columbine Hangs down its head, to view those feet of thine! See the fond motion of the strawberry Creeping on th' earth, to go along with thee!
Página 175 - The Songs of Death, forget my sweetest child, Which like a flow'r crusht, with a blast is dead, And ere full time hangs downe his smiling head, Expecting with cleare hope to liue anew, Among the Angels fed with heau'nly dew? We haue this signe of...
Página 35 - This said, his troopes he into order drawes, Then doubled haste redeemes his former pause : So stops the sayler for a voyage bound, When on the sea he heares the tempests sound, Till pressing hunger to remembrance sends, That on his course his houshold's life depends : With this he cleares the doubts that vext his minde.

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