The poems of Henry Howard, earl of Surrey, Volume 43

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Bell and Daldy, 1866 - Literary Criticism - 180 pages
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Page 4 - The turtle to her mate hath told her tale. Summer is come, for every spray now springs: The hart hath hung his old head on the pale; The buck in brake his winter coat he flings ; The fishes flete with new repaired scale.
Page 56 - MARTIAL, the things that do attain The happy life be these, I find: The riches left, not got with pain; The fruitful ground, the quiet mind; The equal friend, no grudge, no strife; No charge of rule nor governance; Without disease, the healthful life; The household of continuance.
Page 19 - With silver drops the mead yet spread for ruth, In active games of nimbleness and strength, Where we did strain, trained with swarms of youth, Our tender limbs that yet shot up in length; The secret groves which oft we made resound Of pleasant plaint and of our ladies...
Page 19 - So cruel prison how could betide, alas, As proud Windsor? Where I in lust and joy With a king's son my childish years did pass In greater feast than Priam's sons of Troy; Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour: The large green courts where we were wont to hove With eyes cast up into the maidens...
Page 57 - ... I find ; The riches left, not got with pain ; The fruitful ground, the quiet mind. The equal friend, no grudge, no strife, No charge of rule nor governance ; Without disease, the healthful life ; The household of continuance. The mean * diet, no delicate fare ; True wisdom joined with simpleness ; The night discharged of all care, Where wine the wit may not oppress.
Page lxix - Here noble Surrey felt the sacred rage, Surrey, the Granville of a former age : Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance, Bold in the lists, and graceful in the dance...
Page 31 - Or brightest day the darkest night. And thereto hath a troth as just As had Penelope the fair; For what she saith, ye may it trust, As it by writing sealed were: And virtues hath she many moe Than I with pen have skill to show.
Page 32 - I know she swore with raging mind, Her kingdom only set apart, There was no loss by law of kind That could have gone so near her heart; And this was chiefly all her pain ; She could not make the like again.
Page 13 - Tuscane came my lady's worthy race, Fair Florence was sometime her ancient seat. The western isle, whose pleasant shore doth face Wild Camber's cliffs, did give her lively heat. Fostered she was with milk of Irish breast ; Her sire an Earl, her dame of Princes' blood, From tender years in Britain doth she rest, With King's child ; where she tasteth costly food.
Page 4 - The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale; The busy bee her honey now she mings ; Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale. And thus I see among these pleasant things Each care decays; and yet my sorrow springs.

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