Tudor and Stuart Love Songs

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John Potter Briscoe
Dutton, 1902 - 142 páginas
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Página 74 - to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine ; But might I of Jove's nedtar
Página 74 - sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be: But thou thereon didst only breathe And sent'st it back to me ; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee ! Ben Jonson.
Página 23 - fit for men ? These are but vain : that's only good Which God hath bless'd and sent for food. But could youth last, and love still breed; Had joys no date, nor age no need ; Then those delights my mind might move, To live with thee, and be thy love. Sir Walter Raleigh.
Página 113 - prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage. If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul am free,— Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty. Richard Lovelace.
Página 56 - ARK ! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With everything that pretty is, My lady sweet arise: Arise, arise.
Página 50 - And I will make thee beds of roses, And a thousand fragrant posies : A cap of flowers, and a kirtle, Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we'll pull;
Página 113 - fetter'd to her eye— The birds that wanton in the air, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage. If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul am free,— Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty. Richard Lovelace.
Página 55 - Of dumps so dull and heavy; The fraud of men was ever so, Since summer first was leafy. Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into, Hey nonny, nonny. William Shakespeare.
Página 113 - H HEN love, with unconfined wings, Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates ; When I lie tangled in her hair, And fetter'd to her eye— The birds that wanton in the air, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for
Página 22 - Philomel becometh dumb, The rest complains of cares to come. 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 bed of roses, Thy cup, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten ;— In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

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