Anecdotes of Literature and Scarce Books, Volume 2F. C. & J. Rivington, 1807 - Bibliography |
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Page 15
... faire and wittie , Savouring more of Court than Cittie ; A little proude , but full of pittie , Light and humourous in her toying ; Oft building hopes , and soone destroying , Long but sweete in the enjoying ; Neither too easie nor too ...
... faire and wittie , Savouring more of Court than Cittie ; A little proude , but full of pittie , Light and humourous in her toying ; Oft building hopes , and soone destroying , Long but sweete in the enjoying ; Neither too easie nor too ...
Page 26
... Faire and fayre , and twise so faire , As fayre as any may be ; The fayrest sheepeherd on our greene , A love for anie ladie . PARIS . Faire and faire , and twise so fayre , As fayre as anie may bee ; Thy love is fayre for thee alone ...
... Faire and fayre , and twise so faire , As fayre as any may be ; The fayrest sheepeherd on our greene , A love for anie ladie . PARIS . Faire and faire , and twise so fayre , As fayre as anie may bee ; Thy love is fayre for thee alone ...
Page 54
... faire , Thy necke a necke of land ; At natures giftes that are so rare , All men amazed do stand . But to the cleerer judgment , those Are but a womans necke and nose . For foure lines in passion I can dye , As is the lovers guise , And ...
... faire , Thy necke a necke of land ; At natures giftes that are so rare , All men amazed do stand . But to the cleerer judgment , those Are but a womans necke and nose . For foure lines in passion I can dye , As is the lovers guise , And ...
Page 66
... faire , In swiftest streams doth most himself bestowe , The Shad and Tweat do rather like the laire Of brackish waves , where it doth ebb and flow , And thither also doth the Flock repaire , And flat upon the bottome lieth low . The ...
... faire , In swiftest streams doth most himself bestowe , The Shad and Tweat do rather like the laire Of brackish waves , where it doth ebb and flow , And thither also doth the Flock repaire , And flat upon the bottome lieth low . The ...
Page 71
... , Within whose gates all joyes were once abounding , Faire Ilions teares whose deepe laments may stir A flintie hart unto a sigh - resounding . Yet for hirselfe doth Ilion not mone , But for 4 Yet RICHARD BARNFIELD . 71.
... , Within whose gates all joyes were once abounding , Faire Ilions teares whose deepe laments may stir A flintie hart unto a sigh - resounding . Yet for hirselfe doth Ilion not mone , But for 4 Yet RICHARD BARNFIELD . 71.
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Common terms and phrases
agayne Anno Anno Domini Archbishop Hamilton Bible Bishop's Bible black letter British Museum called Church Yard copy curious dayes death delight discourse divers doth Duke of Roxburgh edition England English EPIG flie foole GABRIEL HARVEY Garrick collection Gent Gentlemen George GEORGE GASCOIGNE George Peele grace hath haue Henry History holy honorable Imprinted at London inscribed John King Lady late learned London Lord Maister Majesties mery MUSICKE mynde never night noble Octavo pittie pleasant Poem Poet pretie Printed Printer quæ Queene quoth rare reader Robert Greene Rondeau Roxburgh collection Royal sayd Scotland shew sing singular sold SONG sonne specimen subjoin sundry sunne sweet Testament thee theyr thing Thomas Thomas Lodge thou thought thynges Tract translated tyme unto verses vertue vnto volume vpon wanton Wherein worthy writing written wyll yeres
Popular passages
Page 128 - Quicquid agunt homines, votum, timor, ira, voluptas, Gaudia, discursus, nostri farrago libelli est.
Page 363 - Yok'd with a slow-foot ox on fallow field, Can right areed how handsomely besets Dull spondees with the English dactylets. If Jove speak English in a thundring cloud, " Thwick thwack," and " riff raff," roars he out aloud. Fie on the forged mint that did create New coin of words never articulate.
Page 120 - Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet: Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast; My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest. Ah, wanton, will ye?
Page 37 - Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye may; And this is Love, as I hear say. Yet what is Love, good shepherd, show? , A thing that creeps, it cannot go, A prize that passeth to and fro, A thing for one, a thing for moe, And he that proves shall find it so; And shepherd, this is Love, I trow.
Page 79 - ... plains? Ah, sweet Content, where dost thou safely rest ? In heaven, with Angels which the praises sing Of Him that made and rules at his behest The minds and hearts of every living thing ? Ah, sweet Content, where doth thine harbour hold ? Is it in churches with religious men Which please the gods with prayers manifold, And in their studies meditate it then ? Whether thou dost in heaven or earth appear, Be where thou wilt, thou wilt not harbour here.
Page 191 - WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. Mother's wag, pretty boy, Father's sorrow, father's joy ; When thy father first did see Such a boy by him and me, He was glad, I was woe, Fortune changed made him so, When he left his pretty boy Last his sorrow, first his joy.
Page 318 - Languages. With Arguments of Bookes and Chapters, Annotations and other necessarie Helpes for the better understanding of the Text, and specially for the Discoverie of the Corruptions of divers late Translations, and for cleering the Controversies in Religion of these Daies.
Page 122 - Even on the brink I hear him sing; If so I meditate alone, He will be partner of my moan; If so I mourn, he weeps with me, And where I am there will he be.
Page 121 - I'll make you fast it for your sin, I'll count your power not worth a pin, Alas ! what hereby shall I win, If he gainsay me? What if I beat the wanton boy With many a rod ? He will repay me with annoy, Because a god. Then sit thou...
Page 121 - I'll count your power not worth a pin: Alas, what hereby shall I win, If he gainsay me ? What if I beat the wanton boy With many a rod ? He will repay me with annoy, Because a god. Then sit thou safely on my knee, And let thy bower my bosom be, Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee; O Cupid, so thou pity me, Spare not, but play thee.