Chatsworth; or, The romance of a week [by P.G. Patmore]. Ed. by the author of 'Tremaine'.

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Page 129 - Asp. It were a timeless smile should prove my cheek : It were a fitter hour for me to laugh, When at the altar the religious priest Were pacifying the offended powers With sacrifice, than now.
Page 151 - Full with her sorrow, she tied fast her eyes To the fair Trojan ships, and having lost them, Just as thine eyes do, down stole a tear, Antiphila. What would this wench do, if she were Aspatia ? Here she would stand,- till some more pitying god Turn'd her to marble: 'tis enough, my wench ; Show me the piece of needle-work you wrought. Ant. Of Ariadne, madam ? Asp. Yes, that piece. This should be Theseus, h' as a cozening face ; You meant him for a man ? Ant.
Page 84 - Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
Page 131 - You'll come, my lord, and see the virgins weep When I am laid in earth, though you yourself Can know no pity : thus I wind myself Into this willow garland, and am prouder, That I was once your love (though now refus'd) Than to have had another true to me.
Page 129 - In giving me a spotless offering To young Amintor's bed, as we are now For you. Pardon, Evadne : would my worth Were great as yours, or that the King, or he, Or both, thought so ! Perhaps he found me worthless : But till he did so, in these ears of mine, These eredulous ears, he pour'd the sweetest words That art or love could frame.
Page 152 - Twill make the story, wrong'd by wanton poets, Live long and be believ'd ; but where's the lady ? Ant. There, madam. Asp. Fie, you have miss'd it here, Antiphila, You are much mistaken, wench ; These colours are not dull and pale enough, To shew a soul so full of misery As this sad lady's was...
Page 152 - To show a soul so full of misery As this sad lady's was. Do it by me, Do it again by me, the lost Aspatia ; And you shall find all true but the wild island. Suppose I stand upon the sea-beach now...
Page 81 - The pale face is resting on clasped hand, over which, and all round the small exquisitely modelled head, fall heavy waves of auburn hair, concealing all but one pale cheek pale and cold as marble, but smooth and soft as a girl's.
Page 151 - When Paris brought home Helen. Now, a tear; And then thou art a piece expressing fully The Carthage queen, when, from a cold sea-rock, Full with her sorrow, she tied fast her eyes To the fair Trojan ships ; and, having lost them, Just as thine eyes do, down stole a tear. Antiphila...
Page 226 - This earth of mine doth tremble, and I feel A stark affrighted motion in my blood ; My soul grows weary of her house, and I All over am a trouble to myself.

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