The British Bibliographer, Volume 1

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R. Triphook, 1810 - English literature
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Page 290 - And first, within the porch and jaws of Hell, Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent With tears; and to herself oft would she tell Her wretchedness, and cursing never stent To sob and sigh; but ever thus lament, With thoughtful care, as she that, all in vain, Would wear, and waste continually in pain. Her eyes unsteadfast, rolling here and there...
Page 98 - Townsfolk my strength ; a daintier judge applies His praise to sleight, which from good use doth rise Some lucky wits impute it but to chance ; Others, because of both sides I do take My blood from them, who did excel in this. Think Nature me a man of arms did make. How far they shot awry ! the true cause is, STELLA looked on, and from her heavenly face Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race...
Page 101 - Grant! O grant ! but speech, alas, Fails me, fearing on to pass : Grant ! O me ! what am I saying ? But no fault there is in praying." " Grant ! O Dear! on knees I pray...
Page 98 - ... abstracted guise Seem most alone in greatest company, With dearth of words, or answers quite awry, To them that would make speech of speech arise ; They deem, and of their doom the rumour flies, That poison foul of bubbling pride doth lie So in my swelling breast, that only I Fawn on myself, and others do despise ; Yet pride, I think, doth not my soul possess, Which looks too oft in his unflattering glass : But one worse fault — ambition — I confess, That makes me oft my best friends overpass,...
Page 407 - Richly she feeds, and at the rich man's cost ; And for her meat she needs not crave nor cry ; By sea, by land, of...
Page 102 - That, not I, but, since I love you, Time and place for me may move you. 'Never season was more fit, Never room more apt for it; Smiling air allows my reason; These birds sing, "Now use the season." 'This small wind, which so sweet is, See how it the leaves doth kiss; Each tree in his best attiring Sense of love to love inspiring. 'Love makes earth the water drink, Love to earth makes water sink; And, if dumb things be so witty, Shall a heavenly grace want pity?
Page 97 - Each sight draws on a thought (thought, mother of science) Sweet birds kindly do grant harmony unto thee, 'Fair trees' shade is enough fortification, Nor danger to thyself if 't be not in thyself.
Page 290 - Stoined and amazed at his own shade for dread, And fearing greater dangers than was need. And next within the entry of this lake...
Page 99 - In martial sports I had my cunning tried. And yet to break more staves did me address, While with the people's shouts (I must confess) Youth, luck, and praise, even fill'd my veins with pride When Cupid having me (his slave) descried In Mars's livery, prancing in the press, "What now. Sir Fool ! " said he: "I would no less: Look here, I say.
Page 405 - This maketh me at home to hunt and hawk. And in foul weather at my book to sit, In frost and snow then with my bow to stalk: No man doth mark whereso I ride or go, In lusty leas at liberty I walk, And of these news I feel nor weal nor woe, Save that a clog doth hang yet at my heel.

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