The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed

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Page 206 - Little. Through sunny May, through sultry June, I loved her with a love eternal ; I spoke her praises to the moon, I wrote them for the Sunday Journal.
Page 201 - At his approach complaint grew mild ; And when his hand unbarred the shutter, The clammy lips of fever smiled The welcome which they could not utter. He always had a tale for me Of Julius Caesar, or of Venus; From him I learnt the rule of three, I used to singe his powdered wig, To steal the staff he put such trust in, And make the puppy dance a jig, When he began to quote Augustine.
Page 164 - I think that friars and their hoods, Their doctrines and their maggots, Have lighted up too many feuds, And far too many faggots ; I think while zealots fast and frown, And fight for two or seven, That there are fifty roads to town, And rather more to Heaven.
Page 38 - The cock doth crow ; It is time for the Fisher to rise and go. Fair luck to the Abbot, fair luck to the shrine ; He hath gnawed in twain my choicest line ; Let him swim to the north, let him swim to the south, The Abbot will carry my hook in his mouth.
Page 27 - Persian stories ; Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo, Fierce odes to Famine and to Slaughter, And autographs of Prince Leboo, And recipes for elder-water.
Page 195 - Miss Lane, at her Temple of Fashion, Taught us both how to sing and to speak, And we loved one another with passion, Before we had been there a week : You gave me a ring for a token ; I wear it wherever I go ; I gave you a chain — is it broken ? My own Araminta, say
Page 196 - When I heard I was going abroad, love, I thought I was going to die; We walked arm in arm to the road, love, We looked arm in arm to the sky; And I said ' When a foreign postilion Has hurried me off to the Po, Forget not Medora Trevilian : My own Araminta, say
Page 220 - Where are my friends? I am alone; No playmate shares my beaker: Some lie beneath the churchyard stone, And some — before the Speaker; And some compose a tragedy, And some compose a rondo; And some draw sword for Liberty, And some draw pleas for John Doe. Tom Mill was used to blacken eyes Without the fear of sessions; Charles...
Page 197 - If he don't stand six feet in his shoes, If his lips are not redder than roses, If his hands are not whiter than snow, If he has not the model of noses, My own Araminta, say
Page 230 - ... is laid down with fresh gravel, Papa is laid up with the gout ; And Jane has gone on with her easels, And Anne has gone off with Sir Paul ; And Fanny is sick with the measles, — And I'll tell you the rest at the Ball.

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