Songs & Lyrics from the Dramatists, 1533-1777George Newnes, 1905 - 242 strán (strany) |
Vyhľadávanie v obsahu knihy
Strana 53
... When icicles hang by the wall , And Dick the shepherd blows his nail , And Tom bears logs into the hall , And milk comes frozen home in pail , When blood is nipped , and ways be foul Then nightly sings the staring owl , To - who ; Tu ...
... When icicles hang by the wall , And Dick the shepherd blows his nail , And Tom bears logs into the hall , And milk comes frozen home in pail , When blood is nipped , and ways be foul Then nightly sings the staring owl , To - who ; Tu ...
Časté výrazy a frázy
Beauty behold birds blessed blood bright Careless Shepherdess charm chaste circa Cuckoo Cupid Cynthia's Revels dance dead Death delight ding DIRGE dost doth drink eyes fair fairy Faithful Shepherdess fantasy will never father spite fear feast fire flowers fool FRANCIS BEAUMONT Gipsies give golden GOLDEN SLUMBERS grave green Hark hast hath heart Heaven HECATE heigh Here's Hey nonny hither honour JOHN WEBSTER king kiss lady laugh lips live Love's lovers lullaby lusty maid married a Sunday Master Constable merrily merry Mistress mortal ne'er Nice Valour night nymph o'er Pan's PETER HAUSTED Phoebus pity pleasure pretty Queen ring round SABRINA FAIR SATYR shepherds sigh sing sleep slumber SONG Sorrow spite and spurn spring Sun's Darling swain tears tell thee thing THOMAS MIDDLETON thou art Trilla unto Venus wanton weep Whilst WILLIAM ROWLEY wind wine youth
Populárne pasáže
Strana 65 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it.
Strana 65 - Sigh, no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever ; One foot in sea, and one on shore ; To one thing constant never : Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny ; Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny.
Strana 49 - Philomel, with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby ; Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby : Never harm, Nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh ; So, good night, with lullaby.
Strana 204 - Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks, Sleeking her soft alluring locks, By all the nymphs that nightly dance Upon thy streams with wily glance, Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head From thy coral-paven bed, And bridle in thy headlong wave, Till thou our summons answered have.
Strana 45 - Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung ; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
Strana 78 - Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love, Time will not be ours for ever, He, at length, our good will sever; Spend not then his gifts in vain; Suns, that set, may rise again; But if once we lose this light, "Tis with us perpetual night. Why should we defer our joys ? Fame and rumour are but toys.
Strana 62 - The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be. Is she kind, as she is fair, For beauty lives with kindness f Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness ; And, being helpd, inhabits there.
Strana 53 - Tu-whit, tu-who ! a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit, tu-who...
Strana 49 - I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine...
Strana 50 - Now the wasted brands do glow. Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, Puts the wretch, that lies in woe, In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night, That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide: And we fairies, that do run...