Poems by Sir Henry Wotton, Sir Walter Raleigh and Others

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W. Pickering, 1845 - 136页
 

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第xiv页 - An ambassador is an honest man, sent to lie abroad for the good of his country.
第21页 - HOW happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill ! Whose passions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care Of public fame or private breath; Who envies none that chance doth raise...
第22页 - Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend. This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall : Lord of himself, though not of lands, And, having nothing, yet hath all.
第120页 - A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, • In folly ripe, in reason rotten, Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy love.
第21页 - Nor ruin make oppressors great; Who God doth late and early pray More of His grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a...
第70页 - The world's a bubble and the Life of Man Less than a span In his conception wretched, from the womb So to the tomb; Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years With cares and fears. Who then to frail mortality shall trust, But limns on water, or but writes in dust.
第43页 - Thou great power ! in whom I move, For whom I live, to whom I die, Behold me through Thy beams of love. Whilst on this couch of tears I lie ; And cleanse my sordid soul within By Thy Christ's blood, the bath of sin...
第98页 - Give me my scallop-shell of quiet, My staff of faith to walk upon. My scrip of joy, immortal diet, My bottle of salvation, My gown of glory, hope's true gage; And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
第6页 - You violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year, As if the spring were all your own ; What are you when the rose is blown ? So, when my mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind, By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not design'd Th...
第26页 - Nature seem'd in love ; The lusty sap began to move; Fresh juice did stir th' embracing vines ; And birds had drawn their valentines. The jealous trout, that low did lie, Rose at a well-dissembled fly ; There stood my Friend, with patient skill, Attending of his trembling quill.

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