The Passionate Pilgrim: Or, Eros and Anteros

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P. Davies, 1926 - 256 Seiten

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Seite 17 - We were, fair queen, Two lads that thought there was no more behind, But such a day to-morrow as to-day, And to be boy eternal. Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o' the two ? Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' the sun And bleat the one at the other.
Seite 197 - Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
Seite 100 - Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, And simple truth miscalled simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill : Tired with all these,...
Seite 60 - He will fulfil the desire of them that fear him: He also will hear their cry, and will save them.
Seite 145 - Prosperity is not without many fears and distastes ; and Adversity is not without comforts and hopes. We see in needleworks and embroideries it is more pleasing to have a lively work upon a sad and solemn ground than to have a dark and melancholy work upon a lightsome ground : judge therefore of the pleasure of the heart by the pleasure of the eye. Certainly virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when they are incensed or crushed ; for Prosperity doth best discover vice, but Adversity doth...
Seite 213 - In truth, the great Elements we know of, are no mean comforters : the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown — the Air is our robe of state — the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it — able, like David's harp, to make such a one as you forget almost the tempest cares of life.
Seite 129 - OH THAT I were as in months past, as in the days when God preserved me; When his candle shined upon my head, and when by his light I walked through darkness...
Seite 197 - Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay, Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away; Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day ; Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain ; Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray ; Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.
Seite 71 - Another misery there is in affection ; that whom we truly love like our own selves, we forget their looks, nor can our memory retain the idea of their faces ; and it is no wonder, for they are ourselves, and our affection makes their looks our own.
Seite 169 - Away! we know that tears are vain, That death nor heeds nor hears distress: Will this unteach us to complain? Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou — who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

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