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Seite 87 - I conjure you, by that which you profess, (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me : Though you untie the winds, and let them fight Against the churches ; though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown down; Though castles topple on their warders...
Seite 222 - I, long before the blissful hour arrives, Would chant in lonely peace, the spousal verse Of this great consummation; and, by words Which speak of nothing more than what we are, Would I arouse the sensual from their sleep Of death, and win the vacant and the vain To noble raptures...
Seite 174 - We shall grow old apace, and die Before we know our liberty. Our life is short, and our days run As fast away as does the sun. And, as a vapour or a drop of rain, Once lost, can ne'er be found again, So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade, All love, all liking, all delight Lies drown'd with us in endless night. Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying, Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.
Seite 174 - And some have wept, and wooed and plighted troth, And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth : Many a green gown has been given; Many a kiss, both odd and even: Many a glance, too, has been sent From out the eye, love's firmament; Many a jest told of the keys betraying This night, and locks picked, yet we're not a-Maying.
Seite 159 - Let not the dark thee cumber ; What though the moon does slumber? The stars of the night Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear without number.
Seite 162 - We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring! As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing. We die, As your hours do, and dry Away Like to the Summer's rain; Or as the pearls of morning's dew Ne'er to be found again.
Seite 173 - To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green, And sweet as Flora. Take no care For jewels for your gown or hair ; Fear not, the leaves will strew Gems in abundance upon you ; Besides the childhood of the day has kept Against you come, some orient pearls unwept.
Seite 173 - There's not a budding boy or girl this day But is got up and gone to bring in May. A deal of youth ere this is come Back, and with white-thorn laden home.
Seite 168 - Ah Ben! Say how or when Shall we, thy guests, Meet at those lyric feasts, Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun ; Where we such clusters had, As made us nobly wild, not mad ? And yet each verse of thine Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine. My Ben ! Or come again, Or send to us Thy wit's great overplus; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it, Lest we that talent spend ; And having once brought to an end That precious stock, — the store Of such a wit the world should have no more.