The Works of the English Poets: Cowley

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H. Hughs, 1779

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Страница 241 - WELL then ; I now do plainly see This busy world and I shall ne'er agree. The very honey of all earthly joy Does, of all meats, the soonest cloy ; And they, methinks, deserve my pity Who for it can endure the stings, The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings Of this great hive, the city.
Страница 197 - For every tree and every herb around With pearly dew was crown'd, And upon all the quicken'd ground The fruitful seed of Heaven did brooding lie, And nothing but the Muse's fleece was dry.
Страница 136 - THE thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks and gapes for drink again; The plants suck in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair; The sea itself (which one would think Should have but little need of drink) Drinks ten thousand rivers up, So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup.
Страница 241 - I descend to the grave May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, and many books, both true, Both wise, and both delightful too!
Страница 204 - Nature's watchful life and health Her joy, her ornament, and wealth ! Hail to thy husband, Heat, and thee ! Thou the world's beauteous bride, the lusty bridegroom he!
Страница 147 - Thy silver hairs yielded me more Than even golden curls before. Had I the power of creation, As I have of generation, Where I the matter...
Страница 210 - Must not from others' work a copy take ; No, not from Rubens or Vandyke ; Much less content himself to make it like Th' ideas and the images which lie In his own fancy, or his memory. No, he before his sight must place The natural and living face ; The real object must command Each judgment of his eye, and motion of his hand.
Страница 224 - Nothing yet in thee is seen; But when a genial heat warms thee within, A new-born wood of various lines there grows; Here buds an L, and there a B, Here sprouts a V, and there a T, And all the flourishing letters stand in rows.
Страница 10 - This has been the case with Shakspeare, Fletcher, Jonson, and many others ; part of whose poems I should take the boldness to prune and lop away, if the care of replanting them in print did belong to me : neither would I make any scruple to cut off from some the unnecessary...
Страница 266 - Tis hope is the most hopeless thing of all. Hope, thou bold taster of delight, Who, whilst thou should'st but taste, devour'st it quite!