The Life and the Poetry of Charles Cotton

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University of Pennsylvania, 1911 - 127 pages

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Page 114 - Beauty, State, Train, Blood, and Birth, Are but the fading blossoms of the earth. I would be great, but that the sun doth still Level his rays against the rising hill: I would be high, but see the proudest oak Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke: I would be rich, but see men, too unkind, Dig in the bowels of the richest mind: I would be wise, but that I often see The fox suspected, whilst the ass goes free...
Page 118 - FAREWELL, thou busy world, and may We never meet again; Here I can eat, and sleep, and pray, And do more good in one short day Than he who his whole age out-wears Upon the most conspicuous theatres, Where nought but vanity and vice appears.
Page 103 - 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...
Page 2 - How say you, reader — do not these verses smack of the rough magnanimity of the old English vein ? Do they not fortify like a cordial ; enlarging the heart, and productive of sweet blood, and generous spirits, in the concoction ? Where be those puling fears of death, just now expressed or affected?
Page 119 - Dear Solitude, the soul's best friend, That man acquainted with himself dost make, And all his Maker's wonders to intend. With thee I here converse at will, And would be -glad to do so still, For it is thou alone that keep'st the soul awake.
Page 97 - Crois-moi, retirons-nous hors de la multitude, Et vivons désormais loin de la servitude De ces palais dorés où tout le monde accourt. Sous un chêne élevé les arbrisseaux s'ennuient, Et devant le soleil tous les astres s'enfuient De peur d'être obligés de lui faire la cour.
Page 116 - There are no ills but what we make By giving shapes and names to things, — • Which is the dangerous mistake That causes all our sufferings.
Page 98 - O my beloved rocks, that rise To awe the earth and brave the skies, From some aspiring mountain's crown, How dearly do I love, Giddy with pleasure, to look down ; And, from the vales, to view the noble heights above...
Page 7 - He had all those qualities which in youth raise men to the reputation of being fine gentlemen; such a pleasantness and gaiety of humour, such a sweetness and gentleness of nature, and such a civility and delightfulness in conversation, that no man in the court or out of it, appeared a more accomplished person...
Page 98 - Live but undisturbed and free ! Here in this despised recess, Would I, maugre winter's cold And the summer's worst excess, Try to live out to sixty full years old ; And, all the while, Without an envious eye On any thriving under Fortune's smile, Contented live, and then contented die.

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