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Page 63 - Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state : From brutes what men, from men what spirits know : Or who could suffer being here below ? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
Page 110 - At once on the eastern cliff of Paradise He lights; and to his proper shape returns A seraph wing'd : six wings he wore, to shade His lineaments divine ; the pair that clad Each shoulder, broad, came mantling o'er his breast With regal ornament ; the middle pair Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round Skirted his loins and thighs with downy gold, And colours dipt in heaven; the third his feet Shadow'd from either heel with feather'd mail, Sky-tinctured grain. Like Maia's son he stood, And shook...
Page 105 - OLD as I am, for ladies' love unfit, The power of beauty I remember yet, Which once inflamed my soul, and still inspires my wit.
Page 72 - Sen every wight has thereof suffisance, That I behold, and I a creature Put from all this — hard is myn aventure!
Page 52 - Soon brings a well-built palace down. Poets that lasting marble seek, Must carve in Latin or in Greek : We write in sand, our language grows, And, like the tide, our work o'erflows. Chaucer his sense can only boast, The glory of his numbers lost ! Years have defaced his matchless strain, And yet he did not sing in vain.
Page 73 - The long dayes and the nyghtis eke, I wold bewaille my fortune in this wise, For quhich again distresse confort to seke, My custum was on mornis for to rise Airly as day, O happy exercise ! By the come I to joye out of turment, Bot now to purpose of my first entent.
Page 83 - And other of schap like to the floure jonettis; And above all this, there was, wele I wot, Beautee eneuch to mak a world to dote.
Page 190 - Hills, where the scenes of this pastoral poem are laid, the seat of Mr. Forbes, and the resort of many of the literati at that time, I well remember to have heard Ramsay recite, as his own production, different scenes of the Gentle Shepherd, particularly the two first, before it was printed.
Page 103 - Full oft by holy feet our ground was trod, Of clerks good plenty here you mote espy. A little, round, fat, oily man of God, Was one I chiefly mark'd among the fry : He had a roguish twinkle in his eye, And shone all glittering with ungodly dew, If a tight damsel chaunc'd to trippen by ; Which when observ'd, he shrunk into his mew, And straight would recollect his piety anew.