A Complete Edition of the Poets of Great Britain..: Wilkie. Dodsley. Shaw. Smart. Langhorne. Bruce. Chatterton. Graeme. Glover. Lovibond. Penrose. Mickle. Jago. Scott. Johnson. W. Whitehead. Jenyns. Logan. Warton. Cotton. BlacklockJohn & Arthur Arch, ... and for Bell & Bradfute & I. Mundell & Company, Edinburgh., 1795 |
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Page 324
... wythe the owlette trembled and dyd crie ; Firfte Roberte Neatherde hys fore boefom ftroke , Then fellen on the grounde , and thus yfpoke . Roberte . Ah , Raufe ! gif thos the howres do comme a- longe , Gif thos wee flie in chafe of ...
... wythe the owlette trembled and dyd crie ; Firfte Roberte Neatherde hys fore boefom ftroke , Then fellen on the grounde , and thus yfpoke . Roberte . Ah , Raufe ! gif thos the howres do comme a- longe , Gif thos wee flie in chafe of ...
Page 325
... wythe a fwotye 16 cleme 17 Conteke 18 the dynaynge 19 syre , and reche the Ries . [ aftedde 21 , Bytes of the blefte , on gouldyn trones 20 Pure owe yer pleafaunce on mie fadres hedde . The gule 21 depeyacted 23 oares from the black ...
... wythe a fwotye 16 cleme 17 Conteke 18 the dynaynge 19 syre , and reche the Ries . [ aftedde 21 , Bytes of the blefte , on gouldyn trones 20 Pure owe yer pleafaunce on mie fadres hedde . The gule 21 depeyacted 23 oares from the black ...
Page 326
... wythe lockes of blodde - red die , Terrnure , emburled 67 yn the thonders rage , Dethe , lynked to difmaie , dothe ugfomme 68 flie , [ wage . Enchafynge 69 echone champyonne war to Speeres bevyle 70 fperes ; fwerdes upon fwerdes engage ...
... wythe lockes of blodde - red die , Terrnure , emburled 67 yn the thonders rage , Dethe , lynked to difmaie , dothe ugfomme 68 flie , [ wage . Enchafynge 69 echone champyonne war to Speeres bevyle 70 fperes ; fwerdes upon fwerdes engage ...
Page 327
... wythe the fonne , Ihe hym to dryve the wayne 61 , Andere mie wurche is don hage a fonge or twayne 62 . talowe the plough - tayle , Wythe ange jubb 63 of ale . Botte of the maydens , oh ! 1 lacketh notte to telle ; Ser preefte mote notte ...
... wythe the fonne , Ihe hym to dryve the wayne 61 , Andere mie wurche is don hage a fonge or twayne 62 . talowe the plough - tayle , Wythe ange jubb 63 of ale . Botte of the maydens , oh ! 1 lacketh notte to telle ; Ser preefte mote notte ...
Page 328
... wythe thie waterres flowe , [ deede ! And Rudborne ftreeme be Rudborne ftreeme in- Hafte , gentle Juga , tryppe ytte oere the meade , To knowe , or wheder we mufte waile agayne , Or wythe oure fallen knyghtes be menged onne the plain ...
... wythe thie waterres flowe , [ deede ! And Rudborne ftreeme be Rudborne ftreeme in- Hafte , gentle Juga , tryppe ytte oere the meade , To knowe , or wheder we mufte waile agayne , Or wythe oure fallen knyghtes be menged onne the plain ...
Common terms and phrases
Abrocomes Ælla arms beauty bofom breaft Catcott charms Chatterton Creon defcend Demaratus Diomed Diomedon epic poetry Ev'n ev'ry fable facred fafe faid fair fame fate fatire fcenes feems feen fenfe fhade fhall fhore fhould fide figh fight filent firſt flain fleep flower fmile foft fome fong foon forrow foul fpear fpirit fpread ftand ftill ftrain ftream fuch fure fwain fweet fwelling genius Greece hand heart heav'n hero himſelf honour Hyperanthes Lacedemon laft lefs Leonidas loft maid mind moft moſt mufe mufic muft muſt numbers o'er Oileus paffion plain pleaſe pleaſure poem poet pow'r praife praiſe prefent pride profe rage reafon reft rife rofe ſhall ſtate ſtill tear Theban Thebes thee thefe theſe thie thofe thoſe thou tow'rs uſe vale virtue warriors whofe wylle wythe Xerxes youth
Popular passages
Page 135 - Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires. Nor public flame, nor private dares to shine; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine Lo, thy dread empire, Chaos ! is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word : Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall, And universal darkness buries all.
Page 263 - Now, Spring returns ; but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known ; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health are flown.
Page 143 - Three poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed, The next in majesty, in both the last. The force of Nature could no farther go ; To make a third she joined the former two.
Page 264 - There let me sleep forgotten in the clay, When Death shall shut these weary aching eyes, — Rest in the hopes of an eternal day, Till the long night is gone, and the last morn arise.
Page 187 - Tell them, I AM, JEHOVAH said To MOSES; while earth heard in dread, And, smitten to the heart, At once above, beneath, around, All Nature, without voice or sound, Replied, "O LORD, THOU ART.
Page 531 - Thy successful arms we hail ; But remember our sad story, And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. Sent in this foul clime to languish, Think what thousands fell in vain, Wasted with disease and anguish, Not in glorious battle slain.
Page 158 - And num'rous was th' accepting throng. At length pale penury seiz'd the dame, And fortune fled, and ruin came ; She found her riches at an end, And that she had not made one friend.
Page 127 - Ye carry armies on your tow'r-crown'd backs, And grace the turban'd tyrants, bow to him Who is as great, as perfect and as good In his less-striking wonders, till at length The eye's at fault and seeks the assisting glass.
Page 376 - Mercury completes his transient year, Glowing, refulgent, with reflected glare; Bright Venus occupies a wider way, The early harbinger of night and day ; More distant still our globe terraqueous turns, Nor chills intense, nor fiercely heated burns ; Around her rolls the lunar orb of light, Trailing her silver glories through the night. On the earth's orbit see the various signs, Mark where the sun, our year completing, shines ; First the bright Ram his languid ray improves ; Next glaring wat'ry thro...
Page 315 - Syr Canterlone thenne bendedd lowe, Wythe harte brymm-fulle of woe ; Hee journey'd to the castle-gate, And to Syr Charles dydd goe. But whenne hee came, hys children twaine, And eke hys lovynge wyfe, Wythe brinie tears dydd wett the floore, For goode Syr Charleses lyfe. " O goode Syr Charles!" sayd Canterlone, " Badde tydyngs I doe brynge."