Miscellaneous poems ; Leges Convivales ; Translations from the Latin poets ; Explorata: or discoveries ; The English Grammar ; Miscellaneous pieces and conversations ; An interlude, etc. ; Conversations with William Drummond ; Jonsonus virbius: or, The memory of Ben Jonson, revived by the Friends of the Muses, 1638
Bickers and Son, 1875
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action appear beginning body born bring called cause comes common death difference doth English Epigram excellent fair fall fame fear give given grace grow hand hath hear hold honour Italy John Jonson judge judgment kind king known labour lady language Latin laws learned less letters light lines live look lord master mean memory mind muse nature never past person Plautus play poem poet poetry praise present prince rest sense shew sometimes soul sound speak stage style sweet tell thee thine things Thomas thou thought tongue took translation true truth understand unto verses vice viii virtue whole worthy write written
Página 12 - A lily of a day, Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall, and die that night; It was the plant, and flower of light. In small proportions, we just beauties see: And in short measures, life may perfect be.
Página 381 - As I in hoary winter's night Stood shivering in the snow, Surprised I was with sudden heat Which made my heart to glow; And lifting up a fearful eye To view what fire was near, A pretty babe all burning bright Did in the air appear; Who, scorched with excessive heat, Such floods of tears did shed, As though His floods should quench His flames, Which with His tears were bred : "Alas!
Página 378 - Beaumont and Fletcher, of whom I am next to speak, had, with the advantage of Shakespeare's wit, which was their precedent, great natural gifts improved by study; Beaumont especially being so accurate a judge of plays that Ben Jonson, while he lived, submitted all his writings to his censure, and, 'tis thought, used his judgment in correcting, if not contriving all his plots.
Página 344 - Think what with them they would do That without them dare to woo ; And unless that mind I see, What care I how great she be ? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair: If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve : If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go ; For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be ? George Wither.
Página 84 - Prima cadunt : ita verborum vetus interit aetas, Et juvenum ritu florent modo nata vigentque. Debemur morti nos nostraque ; sive receptus Terra Neptunus classes aquilonibus arcet, Regis opus ; sterilisve diu palus, aptaque remis, Vicinas urbes alit, et grave sentit aratrum ; Seu cursum mutavit iniquum frugibus amnis, Doctus iter melius ; mortalia facta peribunt : Nedum sermonum stet honos, et gratia vivax.
Página 198 - Custom is the most certain mistress of language, as the public stamp makes the current money. But we must not be too frequent with the mint, every day coining, nor fetch words from the extreme and utmost ages ; since the chief virtue of a style is perspicuity, and nothing so vicious in it as to need an interpreter.
Página 40 - Tis she ! — but why that bleeding bosom gor'd ' Why dimly gleams the visionary sword ? Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly ! tell, Is it in heaven a crime to love too well ? To bear too tender or too firm a heart, To act a Lover's or a Roman's part ? Is there no bright reversion in the sky For those...
Página 155 - I loved the man, and do honour his memory on this side idolatry as much as any. He was, indeed, honest, and of an open and free nature ; had an excellent phantasy, brave notions, and gentle expressions, wherein he flowed with that facility that sometimes it was necessary he should be stopped.
Página 73 - He the half of life abuses, That sits watering with the Muses. Those dull girls no good can mean us ; Wine it is the milk of Venus,* And the poet's horse accounted : Ply it, and you all are mounted. 'Tis the true Phoebian liquor, Cheers the brains, makes wit the quicker.
Página 73 - WELCOME all who lead or follow To the Oracle of Apollo — Here he speaks out of his pottle, Or the tripos, his tower bottle. All his answers are divine, Truth itself doth flow in wine. "Hang up all the poor hop-drinkers," Cries old Sim, the king of skinkers; "He the half of life abuses That sits watering with the Muses.