Studies in Chaucer: His Life and Writings, Volume 3

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Harper & Brothers, 1891

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Page 83 - I had formerly published, as that of Advancement of Learning, that of Henry VII., that of the Essays, being retractate and made more perfect, well translated into Latin by the help of some good pens which forsake me not. For these modern languages will, at one time or other, play the bankrupt with books ; and since I have lost much time with this age, I would be glad, as God shall give me leave, to recover it with posterity.
Page 163 - I have presumed further, in some places, and added somewhat of my own where I thought my author was deficient, and had not given his thoughts their true lustre, for want of words in the beginning of our language.
Page 171 - For thee, sweet month! the groves green liveries wear, If not the first, the fairest of the year: For thee the Graces lead the dancing hours, And Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers: When thy short reign is past, the feverish sun The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly on. So may thy tender blossoms fear no blight, Nor goats with venom'd teeth thy tendrils bite, As thou shalt guide my wandering feet to find The fragrant greens I seek, my brows to bind.
Page 58 - ... our mother tongue, which truly of itself is both full enough for prose, and stately enough for verse, hath long time been counted most bare and barren of both.
Page 169 - ... set off the whiteness of the skin : His awful presence did the crowd surprise, Nor durst the rash spectator meet his eyes, Eyes that confess'd him born for kingly sway, So fierce, they flash'd intolerable day.
Page 171 - Turned only to the grove his horse's reins, The grove I named before ; and, lighted there, A woodbine garland sought to crown his hair ; Then turned his face against the rising day, And raised his voice to welcome in the May : " For thee, sweet month, the groves green liveries wear, If not the first, the fairest of the year : For thee the Graces lead the dancing Hours, And Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers : When thy short reign is past, the feverish Sun The sultry tropic fears, and moves...
Page 174 - What is this world? what asketh men to have? Now with his love, now in his colde grave Allone, withouten any compaignye.
Page 244 - To make the crow in singing as the swan ; Nor call the lion of coward beasts the most ; That cannot take a mouse as the cat can : And he that dieth for hunger of the gold, Call him Alexander ; and say that Pan Passeth Apollo in music manifold : Praise Sir Topas for a noble tale, And scorn the story that the Knight told : Praise him for counsel that is drunk of ale ; Grin when he laughs, that beareth all the sway, Frown when he frowns, and groan when he is pale On others' lust to hang both night and...
Page 166 - ... starting as the fire ;" and what a native and happy ease in the conclusion ! The busy lark, the messenger of day, Saleweth* in her song the morrow gray ; And fiery Phoebus riseth up so bright, That all the orient laugheth of the sight...
Page 52 - ... same number of syllables, yet being read by one that hath understanding, the longest verse, and that which hath most syllables in it, will fall to the ear correspondent...

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