Time's Telescope for ... ; Or, A Complete Guide to the Almanack

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Sherwood, Gilbert and Piper, 1821 - Almanacs, English
 

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Page 155 - Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, Against you come, some orient pearls unwept: Come, and receive them while the light Hangs on the dew-locks of the night; And Titan on the eastern hill Retires himself, or else stands still Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying: Few beads are best, when once we go a Maying.
Page 291 - 11 not leave thee, thou lone one ! To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them ; Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead.
Page 156 - Come, my Corinna, come ; and coming, mark How each field turns a street, each street a park, Made green and trimmed with trees ! see how Devotion gives each house a bough Or branch ! each porch, each door, ere this, An ark, a tabernacle is, Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove, As if here were those cooler shades of love.
Page 136 - Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers.
Page 142 - 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.
Page 156 - As if here were those cooler shades of love. Can such delights be in the street And open fields, and we not see't? Come, we'll abroad; and let's obey The proclamation made for May: And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.
Page 33 - The cheerful haunts of man ; to wield the axe And drive the wedge in yonder forest drear, From morn to eve his solitary task. Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears And tail cropp'd short, half lurcher and half cur, His dog attends him.
Page 135 - Who is't now we hear ? None but the lark so shrill and clear ; Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings. Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat Poor robin redbreast tunes his note : Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing Cuckoo...
Page 62 - No noise is here, or none that hinders thought. The redbreast warbles still, but is content With slender notes, and more than half suppressed...
Page 112 - Good morrow, fool, quoth I : No, sir, quoth he, Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune...

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