Publications of the Spenser Society, العدد 41Spenser Society, 1885 |
طبعات أخرى - عرض جميع المقتطفات
عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
Alexander Barclay animo Anno atque beſt bleft Blood Britain Britonum CAROLUS CHARLS Cœlo Crie daie di'd doth Dúmque e're enim Epigramma ergò faln fata Fate fecula fhall fince Firſt Folio fræna fuch fuis George Wither Glorie glorious Grebner Grief hæc hath Heaven hunc hurl'd ignes ipfe John Taylor jura juſt King laſt Loial MAJESTIE manu Mourning muft Murther muſt ne're Nepotes Nereus Nunc o're olim Orbem Original Editions PALEMON Parentis Patris Perfon Pietas pœna poft Prince Princelie quà Quæ Quàm quum Regis Regna Regum Reprinted Roial Sacred Sacrum Sceptri ſhall Shee ſhould Soul ſpread ſtill ſtorie ſuch tandem Taylor the Water Tears Thee theſe Thine thofe thoſe Thou Tibi Treaſon Tunc Umbris Vaticinium Votivum Volume of 1630 vota waie Water Poet Weep Whil'ft whofe whoſe Zephyro ာာာာာာာာာာာာာာာာ
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 83 - I'm in the cabinet lockt up, Like some high-prized margarite, Or, like the great mogul or pope, Am cloyster'd up from publick sight : Retiredness is a piece of majesty, And thus, proud sultan, I'm as great as thee. Here sin for want of food must starve, Where tempting objects are not seen ; And these strong walls do only serve To keep vice out, and keep me in : Malice of late's grown charitable sure, I'm not committed, but am kept secure. So he that struck at Jason's life,* Thinking t...
الصفحة 75 - Thy Name's a Text too hard for us : no men Can write of it, without Thy Parts and Pen. Thy Prifons, Scorns, Reproach, and Povertie (Though thefe were thought too courteous Injurie) How could'ft Thou bear ? Thou Meeker Mofes, how ? Was ever Lion bit with Whelps till now And did not roar ? Thou England's David, how Did Shimei'sTongue not move Thee?
الصفحة 77 - White-hallm\rfk bee, Lately His Palace, now His Calvarie. Great CHARLS, is this Thy Dying-place ? And where Thou wer't our KING, art Thou our MARTYR there ? Thence, thence Thy Soul took flight ; and there will wee Not ceaf to Mourn, where Thou did'ft ceaf to Bee. And thus, bleft Soul, Hee's gon : a Star, whofe fall, As no Ecliflfprove's Oecumenical.
الصفحة 61 - Bloodie) prov'd Thy Beft : It prov'd Thy folemn Coronation, fmce The Yard's Thy Palace ; and a Glorious Prince Thy Prefident : Who after Him art hurl'd To meet Thy Sovereign in another World. Transferr'd from Earth to Heaven, to remain A fixed Star, and wait on CHARLS his WAIN.
الصفحة 84 - Even then her charming melody doth prove That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove. I am the bird whom they combine Thus to deprive of liberty...
الصفحة 81 - Though Surlie Nereus roar's, my thoughts are calm, Then ftrike Affliftion ; for thy wounds are Balm. That which the world mif-call's A Gaole, A private Clofet is to mee ; Whil'ft a good Confcience is my Bail And Innocence my Libertie. Locks, Barrs, Walls, Loannefs though together met, Make mee no prifoner but an Anchoret. I, while I...
الصفحة 22 - Of Colchis, which the vulgar did adore And Deifie fo much, that they did prize Each Planck as Trophies to bee fix't ith' Skies ; That Ship was but a Cock-boat to thy Sail, Or fom poor punie Whiting to a Whale. Had Hee been Fraught with Thee, hee ne'r had thought Of that vain Voiage, and fo dearly bought A lock A lock of Wool, and better-tutor'd Greece, Would brag no longer of her Phrygian Fleece : Thofe Pageant-pot-gun-Triumphs (if their ftorie Were true) were but meer Atoms to Thy Glorie, Wch flame's...
الصفحة 78 - ... Oecumenical. That Wretch had skill to fin, whofe Hand did know How to behead three Kingdoms at one blow. England hath loft the Influence of Her KING, No wonder that fo backward was Her Spring. O difmal Daie ! but yet how quickly gon ? It muft bee fhort, Our SUN went down at Noon.
الصفحة 14 - Aenean, alacris palmas utrasque tetendit, 686 effusaeque genis lacrimae et vox excidit ore: "venisti tandem, tuaque exspectata parenti FGMPH vicit iter durum pietas? datur ora tueri, nate, tua et notas audire et reddere voces? 690 sic equidem ducebam animo rebarque futurum, tempora dinumerans, nee me mea cura fefellit. quas ego te terras et quanta per aequora vectum accipio! quantis iactatum, nate, periclis! quam metui, ne quid Libyae tibi regna nocerent!