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WHEN the vain triumph of the imperial lord, Whom servile Rome obeyed, and yet abhorred, Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust, That left a likeness of the brave, or just; What most admired each scrutinising eye Of all that decked that passing pageantry?
When they dislocate my Brain! Amputate my freckled Bosom! Make me bearded like a man! Blush, my spirit, in thy Fastness -- Blush, my unacknowledged clay -- Seven years of troth have taught thee More than Wifehood every may!
THE PROLOGUE. "No more of this, for Godde's dignity!" Quoth oure Hoste; "for thou makest me So weary of thy very lewedness, That, all so wisly God my soule bless, Mine eares ache for thy drafty speech.
O universal Mother, who dost keep From everlasting thy foundations deep, Eldest of things, Great Earth, I sing of thee!
In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing; In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, In vowing new hate after new love bearing: But why of two oaths' breach...
I know I heard the Corn, When I was carried by the Farms -- It had the Tassels on -- I thought how yellow it would look -- When Richard went to mill -- And then, I wanted to get...
That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming; I love not less, though less the show appear; That love is merchandiz'd, whose rich esteeming, The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
This is my play's last scene, here heavens appoint My pilgrimage's last mile; and my race Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace, My span's last inch, my minute's latest point, And gluttonous death, will instantly unjoint My body...
No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done: Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud: Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd, When not to be receives reproach of being; And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing: For why should others' false adulterate eyes...
Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend; That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you, Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery?
Where art thou Muse that thou forget'st so long, To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st, In one of thine, from that which thou departest; And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st, Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest, Herein lives wisdom, beauty,...
When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead-- When the cloud is scattered The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot.
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down-raz'd, And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on...
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,...
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,' And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in over-plus; More than enough am I that vex'd thee still, To thy sweet will making addition thus. Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,...
THE PROLOGUE. By that the Manciple his tale had ended, The sunne from the south line was descended So lowe, that it was not to my sight Degrees nine-and-twenty as in height.
When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light, And place my merit in the eye of scorn, Upon thy side, against myself I'll fight, And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn.
How swiftly through Heaven's wide expanse Bright day's resplendent colours fade! How sweetly does the moonbeam's glance With silver tint St. Irvyne's glade! No cloud along the spangled air, Is borne upon the evening breeze; How solemn is the scene!
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, And burn the long-liv'd phoenix, in her blood; Make glad and sorry seasons as thou...