The Spencer Anthology: 1548-1591 A. D.

Forside
Edward Arber
H. Frowde, 1899 - 312 sider

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Side 270 - Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet : Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast ; My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest. Ah, wanton, will ye?
Side 229 - Some have too much, yet still do crave; I little have, and seek no more. They are but poor, though much they have, And I am rich with little store: They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; They lack, I leave; they pine, I live.
Side 22 - AND is there care in heaven ? and is there love In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, That may compassion of their evils move ? There is...
Side 208 - With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies ; How silently ; and with how wan a face ! What ! may it be, that even in heavenly place That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries...
Side 135 - I stuff my skin so full within Of jolly good ale and old. Back and side go bare, go bare; Both foot and hand go cold; But, belly, God send thee good ale enough.. Whether it be new or old!
Side 284 - Queen ; At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept, And from thenceforth those graces were not seen, For they this Queen attended ; in whose stead Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse.
Side 206 - My true love hath my heart, and I have his. His heart in me keeps him and me in one, My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides: My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
Side 243 - Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content ; The quiet mind is richer than a crown ; Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent ; The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown : Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss. The homely house that harbours quiet rest ; The cottage that affords no pride nor care ; The mean that 'grees with country music best ; The sweet consort of mirth and music's fare ; Obscured life sets down a type of bliss...
Side 271 - I'll make you fast it for your sin, I'll count your power not worth a pin: Alas, what hereby shall I win, If he gainsay me ? What if I beat the wanton boy With many a rod ? He will repay me with annoy, Because a god. Then sit thou safely on my knee, And let thy bower my bosom be, Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee; O Cupid, so thou pity me, Spare not, but play thee.
Side 270 - I sleep then percheth he With pretty flight, And makes his pillow of my knee The livelong night. Strike I my lute, he tunes the string ; He music plays if so I sing ; He lends me every lovely thing ; Yet cruel he my heart doth sting : Whist wanton, still ye...

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