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againe appeare base beames beare beast beautie behold blessed brest bright Colin cruell Cynthia dead deare death delight desire doest doth downe earth eyes face faire farre fayre feare feed fyre gentle give glorie glorious gods golden goodly grace griefe hand happie hart hast hate hath head heard heare heart heaven heavenly himselfe honour hope leave light live looke Lord lyke mightie mind mourne Muse mynd Nature never night nought paine plaine pleasure powre praise pride pure quoth rest rich seeke seemes selfe shepheards shew sight sing Sith skill sometimes song SONNET sorrow soule spright sweet teares tell thee theyr things thinke thou thought thousand tree unto vaine Venus vertue wings woods worthie wound wretched
Seite 168 - The more they on it stare. But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, Are governed with goodly modesty, That suffers not one look to glance awry Which may let in a little thought unsound.
Seite 192 - So every spirit, as it is most pure, And hath in it the more of heavenly light, So it the fairer bodie doth procure To habit in, and it more fairely dight With chearefull grace and amiable sight ; For of the soule the bodie forme doth take ; For soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.
Seite 173 - Doe burne, that to us wretched earthly clods In dreadful darknesse lend desired light; And all ye powers which in the same...
Seite 164 - Phoebus, father of the Muse If ever I did honour thee aright, Or sing the thing, that mote thy mind delight, Doe not thy servants simple boone refuse, But let this day, let this one day, be myne, Let all the rest be thine.
Seite 104 - So purely white they were, That even the gentle streame, the which them bare, Seem'd foule to them, and bad his billowes spare To wet their silken feathers, least they might Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre, And marre their beauties bright, That shone as heavens light, Against their Brydale day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.
Seite 123 - Sweet is the Nut, but bitter is his pill; Sweet is the Broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough; And sweet is Moly, but his root is ill.
Seite 106 - So they, enranged well, Did on those two attend, And their best service lend Against their wedding day, which was not long: Sweet Thames run softly, till I end my song.
Seite 169 - And bonefiers make all day; And daunce about them, and about them sing, That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. Ah ! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love ? How slowly do the houres theyr numbers spend ? How slowly does sad Time his feathers move?
Seite 167 - And blesseth her with his two happy hands, How the red roses flush up in her cheekes, And the pure snow, with goodly vermill stayne Like crimsin dyde in grayne : That even th...