Greene's Philomela. Greene's Arcadia. Southwell's The triumphs over death. Breton's Characters, and his Good and bad. Nash's Christ's tears over Jerusalem

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From the private Press of Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, printed by T. Davison, 1815

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Stran 4 - O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly When summer's breath their masked buds discloses; But, for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade, Die to themselves.
Stran 11 - There was a certain householder, which planted a vineyard, and hedged it round about, and digged a winepress in it, and built a tower, and let it out to husbandmen, and went into a far country: and when the time of the fruit drew near, he sent his servants to the husbandmen, that they might receive the fruits of it.
Stran 8 - s grief enough for thee. Streaming tears that never stint, Like pearl-drops from a flint, Fell by course from his eyes, That one another's place supplies ; Thus he griev'd in every part, Tears of blood fell from his heart, When he left his pretty boy, Father's sorrow, father's joy. Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee.
Stran ix - Divines and dying men may talk of hell, But in my heart her several torments dwell.
Stran 85 - BEFORE my face the picture hangs, That daily should put me in mind Of those cold names and bitter pangs, That shortly I am like to find : But yet, alas, full little I Do think hereon that I must die.
Stran 19 - Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons, Which at the first are scarce found to distaste, But with a little act upon the blood, Burn like the mines of sulphur.
Stran xvii - It is a common practice nowadays amongst a sort of shifting companions, that run through every art and thrive by none, to leave the trade of Noverint, whereto they were born, and busy themselves with the endeavors of art, that could scarcely latinize their neck-verse if they should have need; yet English Seneca read by candlelight yields many good sentences, as "Blood is a beggar...
Stran 86 - I do use to wear, The knife wherewith I cut my meat, And eke that old and ancient chair Which is my only usual seat,— All these do tell me I must die, And yet my life amend not I. My ancestors are...
Stran 86 - My ancestors are turn'd to clay, And many of my mates are gone ; My youngers daily drop away, And can I think to 'scape alone ? No, no, I know that I must die, And yet my life amend not I.
Stran xvii - Blood is a beggar' and so forth; and if you entreat him fair in a frosty morning, he will afford you whole Hamlets, I should say handfuls, of tragical speeches.

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