A HISTORY OF ENGLISH POETRY

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Seite 411 - Why this is hell, nor am I out of it : Think'st thou that I who saw the face of God, And tasted the eternal joys of Heaven, Am not tormented with ten thousand hells, In being deprived of everlasting bliss ? O Faustus!
Seite 63 - O LORD, rebuke me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure. Have mercy upon me, O Lord; for I am weak : O Lord, heal me ; for my bones are vexed. My soul is also sore vexed : but thou, O Lord how long? Return, O Lord, deliver my soul : oh save me for thy mercies
Seite 232 - With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies ; How silently ; and with how wan a face ! What ! may it be, that even in heavenly place That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries ? Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case ; I read it in thy looks ; thy languisht grace To me, that feel the like, thy state descries...
Seite 232 - Come Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, The indifferent judge between the high and low!
Seite 246 - Ilias, the other in his Odysseis : then Virgil, whose like intention was to doe in the person of...
Seite 259 - Arthur, before he was king, the image of a brave knight, perfected in the twelve private moral virtues, as Aristotle hath devised, the which is the purpose of these first twelve books...
Seite 390 - From jigging veins of rhyming mother wits, And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay, We'll lead you to the stately tent of War...
Seite 172 - SING lullaby, as women do, Wherewith they bring their babes to rest, And lullaby can I sing too, As womanly as can the best. With lullaby they still the child, And if I be not much beguiled, Full many wanton babes have I, Which must be stilled with lullaby.
Seite 407 - But how unseemly is it for my sex, My discipline of arms and chivalry, My nature, and the terror of my name, To harbour thoughts effeminate and faint!
Seite 285 - Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To lose good days, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow; To have thy prince's grace, yet want her peers...

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