The Works in Verse and Prose, 第 2 巻

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334 ページ - And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree, Which Learning near her little dome did...
192 ページ - I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed...
192 ページ - I have heard her with sweetness unfold How that pity was due to a dove, That it ever attended the bold ; And she call'd it the sister of love. But her words such a pleasure convey, So much I her accents adore, Let her speak, and whatever she say, Methinks, I should love her the more.
336 ページ - Goody, good-woman, gossip, n'aunt, forsooth, Or dame, the sole additions she did hear; Yet these she challenged, these she held right dear ; Ne would esteem him act as mought behove Who should not honour'd eld with these revere ; For never title yet so mean could prove, But there was eke a mind which did that title love.
194 ページ - She is every way pleasing to me. 0 you that have been of her train, Come and join in my amorous lays ! 1 could lay down my life for the swain, That will sing but a song in her praise.
190 ページ - I fed on the smiles of my dear ? They tell me, my favourite maid, The pride of that valley, is flown ; Alas ! where with her I have stray'd, I could wander with pleasure, alone.
339 ページ - To thwart the proud, and the fubmifs to raife ; Some with vile copper prize exalt on high, And fome entice with pittance fmall of praife ; And other fome with baleful...
197 ページ - Alas ! from the day that we met, What hope of an end to my woes? When I cannot endure to forget The glance that undid my repose. Yet time may diminish the pain: The flower, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, In time may have comfort for me.
191 ページ - To visit some far distant shrine, If he bear but a relique away, Is happy, nor heard to repine. Thus, widely remov'd from the fair, Where my vows, my devotion I owe ; Soft hope is the relique I bear, And my solace wherever I go.
340 ページ - She sees no kind domestic visage near, And soon a flood of tears begins to flow And gives a loose at last to unavailing woe. But ah ! what pen his piteous plight may trace ? Or what device his loud laments explain? The form uncouth of his disguised face ? The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain ? The plenteous shower that does his cheek distain...

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