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Page 101 - Sweet Day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.
Page 69 - The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields; A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 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.
Page 68 - Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold; A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love.
Page 104 - Indeed, my good scholar, we may say of angling as Dr. Boteler said of strawberries, " Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God never did ; " and so, if I might be judge, " God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling.
Page 65 - I left this place, and entered into the next field, a second pleasure entertained me ; 'twas a handsome Milkmaid that had not yet attained so much age and wisdom as to load her mind with any fears of many things that will never be, as too many men too often do ; but she cast away all care, and sung like a nightingale. Her voice was good, and the ditty fitted for it ; 'twas that smooth song, which was made by Kit Marlowe, now at ' least fifty years ago : and the Milkmaid's mother sung an answer to...
Page 66 - Her voice was good, and the ditty fitted for it; 'twas that smooth song which was made by Kit Marlow, now at least fifty years ago : and the milkmaid's mother sung an answer to it, which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger days. They were old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good, I think much better than the strong lines that are now in fashion in this critical age.
Page 68 - IF all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love.
Page 237 - Go, let the diving negro seek For gems, hid in some forlorn creek : We all pearls scorn, Save what the dewy morn Congeals upon each little spire of grass, Which careless shepherds beat down as they pass : And gold ne'er here appears, Save what the yellow Ceres bears.
Page 238 - Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood, and birth, Are but the fading blossoms of the earth. I would be great, but that the sun doth still Level his rays against the rising hill: I would be high, but see the proudest oak Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke: I would be rich, but see men too unkind, Dig in the bowels of the richest mind: I would be wise, but that I often see The fox suspected, whilst the ass goes free...
Page 194 - Calls my fleeting soul away; Oh ! suppress that magic sound, Which destroys without a wound. Peace Chloris, peace, or singing die, That together you and I To Heaven may go : For all we know Of what the blessed do above Is, that they sing, and that they love.