Glaucus and Silla: With Other Lyrical and Pastoral Poems

From the Press of C. Whittingham, 1819 - 152 páginas

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Página 74 - 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.
Página 73 - 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?
Página 88 - 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.
Página 6 - Forcing hir birds to hast her chariot on; And full of griefe at last with piteous eie Seene where all pale with death he lay alone, Whose beautie quaild, as wont the Lillies droop When wastfull winter windes doo make them stoop: Her daintie hand addrest to dawe her deere...
Página 31 - At last he left me, where at first he found me, Willing me let the world and ladies knowe Of Scilla's pride, and then by oath he bound me To write no more of that whence shame dooth grow : Or tie my pen to pennie-knaues delight But liue with fame, and so for fame to wright.
Página 83 - Sighs and words could never draw her. 0 my love, Thou art lost, Since no sight could ever ease thee. Phoebe sat By a fount; Sitting by a fount I spied her: Sweet her touch, Rare her voice: Touch and voice what may distain you?
Página 6 - ... sweete Arcadian boy Wiping the purple from his forced wound, His pretie teares betokening his annoy, His sighes, his cries, his falling on the ground, The Ecchoes ringing from the rockes his fall, The trees with teares reporting of his thrall : And Venus starting at her...
Página 70 - Rosalynde. Euphues golden Legacie : found after his death in his Cell at Silexedra. Bequeathed to Philautus sonnes noursed vp with their father in England. Fetcht from the Canaries. By TL Gent.
Página 73 - The livelong night. Strike I my lute, he tunes the string, He musicke playes if so I sing, He lends me...
Página 48 - Phoebus' coach, with radiant course, must glide, The hermit bends his humble knees to pray : Blessing that God, whose bounty did bestow Such beauties on the earthly things below.

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