« PreviousContinue »
BORN 1687.- DIED 1745.
THOMAS WARTON, the elder, father of Joseph and Thomas Warton, was of Magdalen College, Oxford, vicar of Basingstoke and Cobham, and twice chosen Poetry Professor.
On beds of daisies idly laid,
Joy, rose-lipt dryad, loves to dwell
sunny field or mossy cell;
While beauty, health, and innocence,
Not fresco'd roofs, not beds of state,
Nymphs of the groves, in green array'd,
fixt stedfast on the ground.
Oh, virtue's nurse, retired queen,
VERSES WRITTEN AFTER SEEING WINDSOR
FROM beauteous Windsor's high and story'd halls,
my low çot, from ivory beds of state,
AN AMERICAN LOVE ODE.
FROM THE SECOND VOLUME OF MONTAIGNE'S ESSAYS.
STAY, stay, thou lovely, fearful snake,
darksome brake :
ages hence, when thou no more Shalt creep along the sunny shore,
Thy copy'd beauties shall be seen ;
Was born in Dublin, in the year 1660, and died in
FROM THE TRAGEDY OF ISABELLA.
ACT IV, SCENE II,
Isabella meeting with Biron after her marriage with Villeroy.
Enter Nurse. Nurse. MADAM, the gentleman's below. Isabella. I had forgot; pray let me speak with him.
[Exit Nurse. This ring was the first present of my love To Biron, my first husband; I must blush To think I have a second. Biron died (Still to my loss) at Candy; there's my hope. Oh, do I live to hope that he died there? It must be so: he's dead, and this ring left By his last breath to some known faithful friend, To bring me back again :
[Biron introduced Nurse retires. That's all I have to trust to
My fears were woman's—I have viewed him all :
Biron. Have you forgot me quite ?
fortunes ! My Isabella! [He goes to her; she shrieks, and falls in a swoon.] Isa. Ha!
Bir. Oh come again !
Isa. My husband ! Biron !
Bir. Excess of love and joy, for my return, Has overpowered her. I was to blame To take thy sex's softness unprepar'd: But sinking thus, thus dying in my arms, This ecstacy has made my welcome more Than words could say: words may be counterfeit, False-coined, and current only from the tongue, Without the mind; but passion's in the soul, And always speaks the heart. Isa. Where have I been? Why do you keep him
from me? I know his voice: life
upon Here's the soft lure that brings me back again; 'Tis he himself, my Biron, the dear man!