Spenser and the Courts of Love

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G. Banta Publishing Company, 1921 - Courts of Love - 137 pages

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Page 23 - And in the midst of all a fountaine stood, Of richest substance that on earth might bee, So pure and shiny that the silver flood Through every channell running one might see ; Most goodly it with curious ymageree Was overwrought, and shapes of naked boyes, Of which some seemd with lively jollitee To fly about, playing their wanton toyes, Whylest others did themselves embay in liquid joyes.
Page 88 - She was a woman in her freshest age, Of wondrous beauty, and of bounty rare, With goodly grace and comely personage, That was on earth not easie to compare; Full of great love, but Cupids wanton snare As hell she hated...
Page 24 - And over all of purest gold was spred A trayle of yvie in his native hew : For the rich metall was so coloured, That wight, who did not well avis'd it vew, Would surely deeme it to bee yvie trew ; Low his lascivious armes adown did creepe, That themselves dipping in the silver dew Their fleecy flowres they fearefully did steepe, Which drops of christall seemd for wantones to weep.
Page 97 - There vertue raynes as Queene in royal throne, And giveth lawes alone, The which the base affections doe obay, And yeeld theyr services unto her will ; Ne thought of thing uncomely ever may Thereto approch to tempt her mind to ill.
Page 20 - Fresh shadowes, fit to shroud from sunny ray ; Faire lawnds, to take the sunne in season dew ; Sweet springs, in which a thousand Nymphs did play ; Soft rombling brookes, that gentle slomber drew...
Page 27 - Almighty Lord, That bad them to increase and multiply: Ne doe they need with water of the ford Or of the clouds to moysten their roots dry; For in themselves eternall moisture they imply.
Page 19 - Mantled with greene, and goodly beautifide With all the ornaments of Floraes pride, Wherewith her mother Art, as halfe in scorne Of niggard Nature, like a pompous bride Did decke her, and too lavishly adorne, When forth from virgin bowre she comes in th
Page 23 - Ther as that swetnesse everemore y-now is, With floures whyte, blewe, yelowe, and rede; And colde welle-stremes, no-thing dede, That swommen ful of smale fisshes lighte, With finnes rede and scales silver-brighte.
Page 119 - Soone after, when my ioy to sorrow flits, I waile, and make my woes a Tragedy. Yet she, beholding me with constant eye, Delights not in my merth, nor rues my...
Page 82 - He letteth in, he letteth out to wend All that to come into the world desire : A thousand thousand naked babes attend About him day and night, which doe require That he with fleshly...

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