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Poems by Sir Henry Wotton, Sir Walter Raleigh, and Others, Ed. by J. Hannah
Henry Wotton, Sir,Walter Ralegh, Sir
Ingen forhåndsvisning - 2015
added additional appears ascribed authority beginning believe Brydges called character claim Collection contains copy correct Davison death Donne doth doubt Earth edition editor Ellis entitled Epigram evidence eyes give given heart Hoskins Ignoto initials inserted Jonson kind King known Lee Priory letter live look Lord loue marked mentioned mind nature never once original Oxford Percy perhaps piece poems Poet praise Prince printed probably prove publication published Queen quoted reason reference remarks Reply reprinted rest says scarcely seems seen short signature signed Sir Henry Sir Walter Raleigh Soul speak stanza sufficient sweet taken tell thee third thou thought tion translation true variations verses viii volume Walton World Wotton write written wrote
Side 37 - HOW happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill...
Side 136 - 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 beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither — soon forgotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Side 78 - I saw the world, and yet I was not seen; My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun; And now I live, and now my life is done! I sought my death, and found it in my womb; I looked for life, and saw it was a shade; I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb; And now I die, and now I am but made; The glass is full, and now my glass is run; And now I live, and now my life is done!
Side 83 - Even such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with earth and dust ; Who, in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days ; But from this earth, this grave, this dust. My God shall raise me up, I trust ! ELIZABETHAN MISCELLANIES.
Side 86 - THE world's a bubble, and the life of man less than a span; In his conception wretched, from the womb so to the tomb: Curst from the cradle, and brought up to years with cares and fears. Who then to frail mortality shall trust, But limns the water, or but writes in dust.
Side xxii - An ambassador is an honest man, sent to lie abroad for the good of his country.
Side 24 - You violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year, As if the spring were all your own ; What are you when the rose is blown ? So, when my mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind, By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not design'd Th...
Side 38 - Whose armour is his honest thought And simple truth his utmost skill! Whose passions not his masters...
Side 120 - In the loose rhymes of every poetaster? Could I be more than any man that lives, Great, fair, rich, wise, all in superlatives; Yet I more freely would these gifts resign, Than ever fortune would have made them mine; And hold one minute of this holy leisure Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure.