A Memoir of Sir Philip Sidney

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Chapman and Hall, 1862 - 557 pages
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Page 384 - Only the poet, disdaining to be tied to any such subjection, lifted up with the vigour of his own invention, doth grow in effect into another nature, in making things either better than Nature bringeth forth, or, quite anew - forms such as never were in Nature...
Page 391 - ... cometh to you with words set in delightful proportion, either accompanied with, or prepared for, the well enchanting skill of music; and with a tale forsooth he cometh unto you, with a tale which holdeth children from play, and old men from the chimney corner.
Page 344 - My true love hath my heart, and I have his. His heart in me keeps him and me in one, My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides: My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
Page 313 - Oft turning others' leaves to see if thence would flow Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burned brain, but words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay; Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows, And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way. Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes, Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite, "Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart and write.
Page 297 - Town-folks my strength ; a daintier judge applies His praise to sleight, which from good use doth rise: Some lucky wits impute it but to chance : Others, because of both sides I do take My blood from them who did excel in this, Think Nature me a man of arms did make ; How far they shot awry ! the true cause is, Stella looked on, and from her heavenly face Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race.
Page 398 - Now ye shall have three ladies walk to gather flowers and then we must believe the stage to be a garden. By and by we...
Page 374 - Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust; And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things. Grow rich in that which never taketh rust; Whatever fades but fading pleasure brings.
Page 390 - Now therein of all sciences (I speak still of human, and according to the humane conceits) is our poet the monarch. For he doth not only show the way, but giveth so sweet a prospect into the way, as will entice any man to enter into it.
Page 392 - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet...
Page 265 - ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE UNDERNEATH this sable hearse Lies the subject of all verse: Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother: Death, ere thou hast slain another Fair, and learned, and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.

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