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The Compleat Angler, Or the Contemplative Man's Recreation (Classic Reprint)
Ingen forhåndsvisning - 2017
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Side 72 - 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 110 - SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, 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 77 - 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 78 - 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.
Side 74 - With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love.
Side 257 - I would beget content, and increase confidence in the power, and wisdom, and providence of Almighty God, I will walk the meadows, by some gliding stream, and there contemplate the lilies that take no care, and those very many other various little living creatures that are not only created, but fed, man knows not how, by the goodness of the God of Nature, and therefore trust in Him.
Side 113 - Indeed, my good scholar, we may say of angling as Dr. Boteler said of strawberries, " Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God never did ; " and so, if I might be judge, " God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling.
Side 78 - ... 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. Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move, To come to thee and be thy love.
Side xxiv - ... let me alone, What an over-happy one Should I think myself to be, Might I, in this desert place, Which most men in discourse disgrace, Live but undisturbed and free ! Here, in this despised recess, Would I, maugre Winter's cold, And the Summer's worst excess, Try to live out to sixty full years old ! And all the while, Without an envious eye, On any thriving under Fortune's smile Contented live, and then — contented die.