Archaica, containing a reprint of scarce old English prose tracts, with prefaces by sir E. Brydges, 第 1 卷



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第 2 頁 - O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly When summer's breath their masked buds discloses; But, for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade, Die to themselves.
第 9 頁 - There was a certain householder, which planted a vineyard, and hedged it round about, and digged a winepress in it, and built a tower, and let it out to husbandmen, and went into a far country: and when the time of the fruit drew near, he sent his servants to the husbandmen, that they might receive the fruits of it.
第 6 頁 - When he left his pretty boy, Father's sorrow, father's joy. Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee: When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee.
第 xvii 頁 - It is a common practice now-adays, amongst a sort of shifting companions that run through every art and thrive by none, to leave the trade of Noverint, whereto they were born, and busy themselves with the endeavours of art, that could scarcely Latinize their neck-verse if they should have need; yet English Seneca, read by candle-light, yields many good sentences, as blood is a beggar...
第 vii 頁 - Divines and dying men may talk of hell, But in my heart her several torments dwell.
第 85 頁 - BEFORE my face the picture hangs, That daily should put me in mind Of those cold names and bitter pangs, That shortly I am like to find : But yet, alas, full little I Do think hereon that I must die.
第 17 頁 - Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons, Which at the first are scarce found to distaste, But with a little act upon the blood, Burn like the mines of sulphur.
第 xvii 頁 - ... immortality, if they but once get Boreas by ' the beard, and the heavenly Bull by the dewlap. But ' herein I cannot so fully bequeath them to folly, as ' their idiot art-masters, that intrude themselves to our ' ears as the alchymists of eloquence, who (mounted ' on the stage of arrogance) think to outbrave better ' pens with the swelling bombast of bragging blank
第 86 頁 - I do use to wear, The knife wherewith I cut my meat, And eke that old and ancient chair, Which is my only usual seat; All these do tell me I must die, And yet my life amend not I.
第 86 頁 - Wherefore I know that I must die, And yet my life amend not I. Though all the East did quake to hear Of Alexander's dreadful name, And all the West did likewise fear To hear of Julius Caesar's fame, Yet both by death in dust now lie; Who then can 'scape but he must die?