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angels bear beasts beauty Ben Jonson blood bloud body breath breed brest COUNTESS OF BEDFORD court dare dead dear death didst disdaine Donne dost doth Earth ELEGY eyes face fair fall falne fame farre fear fire flames foes friends give glory God's grace grief grone hand hate hath haue heart Heaven Hell honour horrour JOHN DONNE king light liv'd live look Lord loue lov'd love's lust mind Muse never night nought once paine pleasure poet poison'd poor pow'r praise prince rage rais'd rest SATIRE III SATIRE VI Satires scape scorne seem'd shame sight sinne sonne SONNET soul sprite straight strange Sunne sweet tears terrour thee thine things thou art thou hast thought thyself tongue true twixt unto us'd verse vex'd virtue Whil'st wrath wretched
Page 46 - Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least ; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee...
Page 56 - O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand.
Page 69 - When shepherds pipe on oaten straws And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear!
Page 451 - I behold like a Spanish great galleon and an English man-of-war. Master Coleridge, like the former, was built far higher in learning, solid, but slow in his performances. CVL, with the English man-of-war, 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.
Page 198 - Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow, Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
Page 69 - While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Page 71 - Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat — Come hither, come hither, come hither ! Here shall we see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun, And loves to live i...
Page 55 - The forward violet thus did I chide ; — Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love's breath ? The purple pride Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells, In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd.
Page 59 - Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait On purpose laid to make the taker mad; Mad in pursuit, and in possession so; Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
Page 55 - From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him: Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell...