Written by
Ben Jonson |
XII. ? ON LIEUTENANT SHIFT. SHIFT, here in town, not meanest among squires, That haunt Pickt-hatch, Marsh-Lambeth, and White-friars, Keeps himself, with half a man, and defrays The charge of that state, with this charm, god pays. By that one spell he lives, eats, drinks, arrays Himself : his whole revenue is, god pays. The quarter-day is come ; the hostess says, She must have money : he returns, god pays. The tailor brings a suit home : he it says, Look's o'er the bill, likes it : and says, god pays. He steals to ordinaries ; there he plays At dice his borrow'd money : which, god pays. Then takes up fresh commodities, for days ; Signs to new bonds ; forfeits ; and cries, god pays. That lost, he keeps his chamber, reads essays, Takes physic, tears the papers : still god pays. Or else by water goes, and so to plays ; Calls for his stool, adorns the stage : god pays. To every cause he meets, this voice he brays : His only answer is to all, god pays. Not his poor cockatrice but he betrays Thus ; and for his lechery, scores, god pays. But see ! the old bawd hath serv'd him in his trim, Lent him a pocky whore.?She hath paid him.[ AJ Notes: l.9 He it says, he it assays, i.e., tries it on. l.11 Steals to ordinaries, goes to taverns. l.16 Physic, medicine. l.23 In his trim, in his own fashion, i.e., she has given him a taste of his own medicine. l.24 Pocky, diseased. ]
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Written by
Walt Whitman |
SPIRIT that form’d this scene,
These tumbled rock-piles grim and red,
These reckless heaven-ambitious peaks,
These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness,
These formless wild arrays, for reasons of their own,
I know thee, savage spirit—we have communed together,
Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own;
Was’t charged against my chants they had forgotten art?
To fuse within themselves its rules precise and delicatesse?
The lyrist’s measur’d beat, the wrought-out temple’s grace—column and
polish’d arch forgot?
But thou that revelest here—spirit that form’d this scene,
They have remember’d thee.SPIRIT that form’d this scene,
These tumbled rock-piles grim and red,
These reckless heaven-ambitious peaks,
These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness,
These formless wild arrays, for reasons of their own,
I know thee, savage spirit—we have communed together,
Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own;
Was’t charged against my chants they had forgotten art?
To fuse within themselves its rules precise and delicatesse?
The lyrist’s measur’d beat, the wrought-out temple’s grace—column and
polish’d arch forgot?
But thou that revelest here—spirit that form’d this scene,
They have remember’d thee.
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Written by
Robert Burns |
NOW in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays,
And listens the lambkins that bleat o’er her braes;
While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw,
But to me it’s delightless—my Nanie’s awa.
The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violetes bathe in the weet o’ the morn;
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw,
They mind me o’ Nanie—and Nanie’s awa.
Thou lav’rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn,
The shepherd to warn o’ the grey-breaking dawn,
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa’,
Give over for pity—my Nanie’s awa.
Come Autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey,
And soothe me wi’ tidings o’ Nature’s decay:
The dark, dreary Winter, and wild-driving snaw
Alane can delight me—now Nanie’s awa.
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Written by
Emily Dickinson |
Whole Gulfs -- of Red, and Fleets -- of Red --
And Crews -- of solid Blood --
Did place upon the West -- Tonight --
As 'twere specific Ground --
And They -- appointed Creatures --
In Authorized Arrays --
Due -- promptly -- as a Drama --
That bows -- and disappears --
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Written by
Isaac Watts |
v.1-5
L. M.
Public prayer and praise.
The praise of Zion waits for thee,
My God, and praise becomes thy house;
There shall thy saints thy glory see,
And there perform their public vows.
O thou whose mercy bends the skies
To save when humble sinners pray,
All lands to thee shall lift their eyes,
And islands of the northern sea.
Against my will my sins prevail,
But grace shall purge away their stain;
The blood of Christ will never fail
To wash my garments white again.
Blest is the man whom thou shalt choose,
And give him kind access to thee;
Give him a place within thy house,
To taste thy love divinely free.
PAUSE.
Let Babel fear when Zion prays;
Babel, prepare for long distress,
When Zion's God himself arrays
In terror and in righteousness.
With dreadful glory God fulfils
What his afflicted saints request;
And with almighty wrath reveals
His love, to give his churches rest.
Then shall the flocking nations run
To Zion's hill, and own their Lord;
The rising and the setting sun
Shall see the Savior's name adored.
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