Poetry and Poets: A Collection of the Choicest Anecdotes Relative to the Poets of Every Age and Nation. With Specimens of Their Works and Sketches of Their Biography, Volumen3
Sherwood, Gilbert, & Piper, 1826 - 305 páginas
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Página 166 - 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...
Página 109 - The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room: Thou art a monument without a tomb, And art alive still while thy book doth live And we have wits to read and praise to give.
Página 108 - Many were the wit-combats betwixt him and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon, and an English man-of-war ; Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher in learning ; solid, but slow in his performances. Shakespeare...
Página 108 - English man-ofwar, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention.
Página 171 - IN going to my naked bed, as one that would have slept, I heard a wife sing to her child, that long before had wept. She sighed sore, and sang full sweet to bring the babe to rest, That would not cease, but cried still, in sucking at her breast. .She was full weary of her watch, and grieved with her child; She rocked it, and rated it, till that on her it smiled. Then did she say, "Now have I found this proverb true to prove, The falling out of faithful friends, renewing is of love.
Página 288 - When the tired hedger hies him home > Or by the woodland pool to rest, When pale the star looks on its breast Yet when the silent evening sighs, With hallow'd airs and symphonies, My spirit takes another tone, And sighs that it is all alone.
Página 85 - HAPPY is England ! I could be content To see no other verdure than its own; To feel no other breezes than are blown Through its tall woods with high romances blent : Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment For skies Italian, and an inward groan To sit upon an Alp as on a throne, And half forget what world or worldling meant. Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters; Enough their simple loveliness for me, Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging: Yet do I often warmly...
Página 61 - Eternal King, That did us all salvation bring, And freed the soul from danger; He whom the whole world could not take, The Word, which heaven and earth did make, Was now laid in a manger. The Father's wisdom willed it so, The Son's obedience knew no No, Both wills were in one stature ; And as that wisdom had decreed, The Word was now made Flesh indeed, And took on him our nature.
Página 240 - One day as the king was walking in the Mall, and talking with Dryden, he said, ' If I was a poet, (and I think I am poor enough to be one,) I would write a poem on such a subject in the following manner,' and then gave him the plan for it.
Página 226 - FLUTTERING spread thy purple pinions. Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart ; I a slave in thy dominions ; Nature must give way to art. Mild Arcadians, ever blooming, Nightly nodding o'er your flocks, See my weary days consuming, All beneath yon flowery rocks.