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The Compleat Angler, Or the Contemplative Man's Recreation
Izaak Walton,Charles Cotton
Begrænset visning - 2005
The Compleat Angler: Or, the Contemplative Man's Recreation (A Modern ...
Izaak Walton,Charles Cotton
Begrænset visning - 2000
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Side x - Wilt thou play with him as with a bird? Or wilt thou bind him for thy maidens? Shall the companions make a banquet of him? Shall they part him among the merchants? Canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons? Or his head with fish spears?
Side 52 - This day dame Nature seem'd in love: The lusty sap began to move; Fresh juice did stir th' embracing vines, And birds had drawn their valentines, The jealous Trout, that low did lie, Rose at a well dissembled fly; There stood my friend with patient skill, Attending of his trembling quill.
Side 89 - With coral clasps, and amber studs : And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love. Thy silver dishes for thy meat, As precious as the gods do eat. Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing, For thy delight each May morning; If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me, and be my love.
Side 19 - But the nightingale, another of my airy creatures, breathes such sweet loud music out of her little instrumental throat, that it might make mankind to think miracles are not ceased. He that at midnight, when the very labourer sleeps securely, should hear, as I have very often, the clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising and falling, the doubling and redoubling of her voice, might well be lifted above earth and say...
Side 125 - The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.
Side 91 - 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...
Side 85 - Her voice was good, and the ditty fitted for it ; it was that smooth song which was made by Kit Marlow, now at least fifty years ago ; and the milk-maid's mother sung an answer to it, which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh, in his younger days. They were old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good ; I think much better than the strong lines that are now in fashion in this critical age.
Side 46 - To frame the little animal, provide All the gay hues that wait on female pride : Let Nature guide thee ; sometimes golden wire The shining bellies of the fly require ; The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not fail, Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tail. Each gaudy hird some slender tribute brings, And lends the growing insect proper wings : Silks of all colours must their aid impart, And every fur promote the fisher's art.
Side 86 - No, I thank you; but, I pray, do us a courtesy that shall stand you and your daughter in nothing, and yet we will think ourselves still something in your debt: it is but to sing us a song that was sung by your daughter when I last passed over this meadow, about eight or nine days since. MILKWOMAN. What song was it, I pray? Was it "Come, shepherds, deck your herds," or "As at noon Dulcina rested," or "Phillida flouts me," or "Chevy Chace," or "Johnny Armstrong,