The Works: The Royal convert. Jane Shore. Jane Gray. Poems on several occasionsJ. and R. Tonson, T. Osborne, 1766 |
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Nicholas Rowe. If I am curft within , and want that Peace Which ev'ry Slave enjoys ? SEOFRID . It racks my aged Heart to fee My royal Mafter , thus ; you But Oh ! what Aid , what Counsel can I bring you , When all yon eaftern Down , ev'n ...
Nicholas Rowe. If I am curft within , and want that Peace Which ev'ry Slave enjoys ? SEOFRID . It racks my aged Heart to fee My royal Mafter , thus ; you But Oh ! what Aid , what Counsel can I bring you , When all yon eaftern Down , ev'n ...
Сторінка 22
... ev'ry Danger fleet away ; Our Saxons fhall forget the prefent Difcord , And urge the Britons with united Arms ; Hymen fhall be aton'd , shall join two Hearts Agreeing , kind , and fitted for each other , And Aribert fhall be the Pledge ...
... ev'ry Danger fleet away ; Our Saxons fhall forget the prefent Difcord , And urge the Britons with united Arms ; Hymen fhall be aton'd , shall join two Hearts Agreeing , kind , and fitted for each other , And Aribert fhall be the Pledge ...
Сторінка 25
... ev'ry Grace , That charms in Woman , or commands in Man ; Behold --- nor wonder then if Crowns are fcorn'd , And purple Majefty looks vile before thee . ARIBERT . Oh ! whither , whither would you lead ? And why This Prodigality of ill ...
... ev'ry Grace , That charms in Woman , or commands in Man ; Behold --- nor wonder then if Crowns are fcorn'd , And purple Majefty looks vile before thee . ARIBERT . Oh ! whither , whither would you lead ? And why This Prodigality of ill ...
Сторінка 26
... ev'ry fecret Sorrow there . I love , I love , my Aribert ; I dote to Death 26 The ROYAL CONVERT ..
... ev'ry fecret Sorrow there . I love , I love , my Aribert ; I dote to Death 26 The ROYAL CONVERT ..
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... ev'ry Thought of Nature from my Soul . A Brother ! -Ï will rush and tear his Breast , Be drunk with gufhing Blood , and glut my Vengeance With his incestuous Heart . SE OFRI D. It is but just You should be mov'd , for fure the Thought ...
... ev'ry Thought of Nature from my Soul . A Brother ! -Ï will rush and tear his Breast , Be drunk with gufhing Blood , and glut my Vengeance With his incestuous Heart . SE OFRI D. It is but just You should be mov'd , for fure the Thought ...
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The Works: The Royal Convert. Jane Shore. Jane Gray. Poems on Several Occasions Nicholas Rowe Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2016 |
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againſt ALICIA ARIBER ARIBERT Arms art thou Beauty behold BELLMOUR Bleffings Bofom Breaft Britons Cauſe Crown Curfe dear Death doft thou Dutchefs of SUFFOLK ETHELINDA ev'n ev'ry Exeunt Eyes facred fafe fair Faith fame Fate fave fcorn Fears fecret feek feems fhall fhould fince firft firſt foft fome Friend Friendſhip ftand ftill fuch fure GARDINER gentle GLO'S GLO'STER Gods Grace Guard GUILFORD Haftings Hand HASTINGS Heart Heav'n Honor Hopes JANE SHORE juft King Lady JANE laft laſt Lord Lord Guilford Dudley Love Mafter moft moſt muft muſt myſelf noble NORTHUMBERLAND o'er Offa OFRID once OSWAL Paffion Peace PEMBROKE Pity Pleaſure Pow'r prefent Prince Queen Rage Reaſon reft rife RODOGUNE royal Saxon Senfe Seofrid ſhall ſhe Sorrows Soul ſpeak ſtill thee thefe theſe thofe thoſe thou art Thought thouſand thro truft whofe Wiſhes Wo't thou wou'd wretched
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Сторінка 124 - Perhaps, ev'n she may profit by th' example, And teach her beauty not to scorn my pow'r. Glost. This do, and wait me e'er the council sits. [Exeunt Rat. and Cat. My lord, y'are well encountred ; here has been A fair petitioner this morning with us ; Believe me, she has won me much to pity her: Alas! her gentle nature was not made To buffet with adversity. I told her How worthily her cause you had befriended ; How much for your good sake we meant to do, That you had spoke, and all things should be...
Сторінка 141 - Here then exchange we mutually forgiveness : So may the guilt of all my broken vows, My perjuries to thee, be all forgotten, As here my soul acquits thee of my death, As here I part without one angry thought, As here I leave thee with the softest tenderness, Mourning the chance of our disastrous loves, And begging Heav'n to bless and to support thee.
Сторінка 135 - Oh, thou most righteous Judge — Humbly behold, I bow myself to thee, And own thy justice in this hard decree: No longer, then, my ripe offences spare, But what I merit, let me learn to bear. Yet since 'tis all my wretchedness can give, For my past crimes my forfeit life receive; No pity for my sufferings here I crave, And only hope forgiveness in the grave.
Сторінка 155 - Why thus indulge thy fears ? And in despair, Abandon thy distracted soul to horror ? Cast every black and guilty thought behind thee, And let 'em never vex thy quiet more.
Сторінка 102 - How few, like thee, inquire the wretched out, And court the offices of soft Humanity ? Like thee reserve their raiment for the naked, Reach out their bread to feed the crying orphan, Or mix their pitying tears with those that weep ? Thy praise deserves a better tongue than mine, To speak and bless thy name.
Сторінка 127 - And swept away distinction? Peasants trod Upon the necks of nobles. Low were laid The reverend crosier and the holy mitre, And desolation cover'd all the land.
Сторінка 119 - So when the spring renews the flow'ry field, And warns the pregnant nightingale to build, She seeks the safest shelter of the wood, Where she may trust her little tuneful brood, Where no rude swains her shady cell may know, No serpents climb, nor blasting winds may blow; Fond of the chosen place, she views it o'er, Sits there and wanders through the grove no more.
Сторінка 139 - Thy reason is grown wild. Could thy weak hand Bring on this mighty ruin? If it could, What have I done so grievous to thy soul, So deadly, so beyond the reach of pardon, That nothing but my life can make atonement?
Сторінка 142 - Retire, I beg thee; To see thee thus, thou know'st not how it wounds me; Thy agonies are added to my own, And make the burden more than I can bear.
Сторінка 148 - Danc'd all the day before her, and at night Soft slumbers waited on her downy pillow — Now sad and shelterless, perhaps, she lies, Where piercing winds blow sharp, and the chill rain Drops from some pent-house on her wretched head, Drenches her locks, and kills her with the cold. It is too much Hence with her past offences, They are aton'd at full Why stay we, then ? Oh ! let us haste, my friend, and find her out.