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Paradise Lost: Book 05

Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime
Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl,
When Adam waked, so customed; for his sleep
Was aery-light, from pure digestion bred,
And temperate vapours bland, which the only sound
Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan,
Lightly dispersed, and the shrill matin song
Of birds on every bough; so much the more
His wonder was to find unwakened Eve
With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek,
As through unquiet rest: He, on his side
Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love
Hung over her enamoured, and beheld
Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice
Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,
Her hand soft touching, whispered thus. Awake,
My fairest, my espoused, my latest found,
Heaven's last best gift, my ever new delight!
Awake: The morning shines, and the fresh field

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poem by John Milton
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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto I

THE ARGUMENT

The Knight and Squire resolve, at once,
The one the other to renounce.
They both approach the Lady's Bower;
The Squire t'inform, the Knight to woo her.
She treats them with a Masquerade,
By Furies and Hobgoblins made;
From which the Squire conveys the Knight,
And steals him from himself, by Night.

'Tis true, no lover has that pow'r
T' enforce a desperate amour,
As he that has two strings t' his bow,
And burns for love and money too;
For then he's brave and resolute,
Disdains to render in his suit,
Has all his flames and raptures double,
And hangs or drowns with half the trouble,
While those who sillily pursue,

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poem by Samuel Butler
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 12

WHEN Turnus saw the Latins leave the field,
Their armies broken, and their courage quell’d,
Himself become the mark of public spite,
His honor question’d for the promis’d fight;
The more he was with vulgar hate oppress’d, 5
The more his fury boil’d within his breast:
He rous’d his vigor for the last debate,
And rais’d his haughty soul to meet his fate.
As, when the swains the Libyan lion chase,
He makes a sour retreat, nor mends his pace; 10
But, if the pointed jav’lin pierce his side,
The lordly beast returns with double pride:
He wrenches out the steel, he roars for pain;
His sides he lashes, and erects his mane:
So Turnus fares; his eyeballs flash with fire, 15
Thro’ his wide nostrils clouds of smoke expire.
Trembling with rage, around the court he ran,
At length approach’d the king, and thus began:
“No more excuses or delays: I stand
In arms prepar’d to combat, hand to hand, 20

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poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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On the Road to Jericho

On the road to Jericho
Mark the stricken one,
Moaning in his agony,
Prone beneath the sun.
Prone beneath the blazing sun,
Naked and alone,
Bleeding from a score of wounds,
Stricken to the bone.
Now his tossing arms lie still;
Now his moans grow faint.
Is there none to succor him
Publican or saint?
Publican or Pharisee
Are none passing by
On the road to Jericho
Is he left to die?

On the road to Jericho
Hurry, hurry, priest!
'Twere a sin wert thou away

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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What Child Is This

What child is this
that lay to rest
on Mary's lap is sleeping
Whom Angels greet with anthem sweet
and shepard's watch are keeping
This , this is Christ the King
Whom shepards guard
and Angels sing
Haste, haste to bring him love
The babe, the son of Mary
So bring him incence, gold and merth
Come peasants king to honor him
The King of Kings salvation brings
and loving arms enthrone him
This, this is Christ the King
Whom shepards guard
And Angels sing
Haste, haste to bring him love
The babe, the son of Mary
This, this is Christ the King

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song performed by Vince Gill
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What Child Is This

What child is this
that lay to rest
on Mary's lap is sleeping
Whom Angels greet with anthem sweet
and shepard's watch are keeping
This , this is Christ the King
Whom shepards guard
and Angels sing
Haste, haste to bring him love
The babe, the son of Mary
So bring him incence, gold and merth
Come peasants king to honor him
The King of Kings salvation brings
and loving arms enthrone him
This, this is Christ the King
Whom shepards guard
And Angels sing
Haste, haste to bring him love
The babe, the son of Mary
This, this is Christ the King

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song performed by Vince Gill
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What Child Is This?

What child is this
Who lay to rest
On marys lap is sleeping
Whom angels greet with anthomsweet
While shepards watch our keeping
This, this is christ the king
Whom shepards gaurd and angels sing
Haste, haste to bring him grace
The babe, the son of mary
So bring him incense, gold, and myrrh
Come peasant king to own him
The king of kings salvation brings
Let loving hearts enthrone him
This, this is christ the king
Whom shepards gaurd and angels sing
Haste, haste to bring him grace
The babe, the son of mary
This, this is christ the king
Whom shepards gaurd and angels sing
Haste, haste to bring him grace

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song performed by Martina Mcbride
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What Child Is This

What child is this who laid to rest
On Mary's lap is sleeping
Whom angels greet with anthem sweet
While shepherds watch are keeping
This is Christ the Lord
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing
Haste, haste to bring him laud
The babe, the son of Mary
Why lies he in such mean estate
Where ox and ass are feeding
Good Christian fear, for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading
This is Christ the Lord
Whom shepards guard and angels sing
Haste,haste to bring him laud
The babe, the son of Mary
So bring Him incense, gold, and myrh
Come peasant king to own Him
The King of Kings, salvation brings
Let loving hearts enthrone Him

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song performed by Jessica Simpson
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Ælla, A Tragical Interlude - Act I

SCENE I.
CELMONDE, att BRYSTOWE.
Before yonne roddie sonne has droove hys wayne
Throwe halfe hys joornie, dyghte yn gites of goulde,
Mee, happeless mee, hee wylle a wretche behoulde,
Mieselfe, and al that's myne, bounde ynn myschaunces chayne.
Ah! Birtha, whie dydde Nature frame thee fayre?
Whie art thou all thatt poyntelle canne bewreene ?
Whie art thou nott as coarse as odhers are?--
Butte thenn thie soughle woulde throwe thy vysage sheene,
Yatt shemres onn thie comelie semlykeene,
Lyche nottebrowne cloudes, whann bie the sonne made redde,
Orr scarlette, wythe waylde lynnen clothe ywreene ,
Syke would thie spryte uponn thie vysage spredde.
Thys daie brave Ælla dothe thyne honde and harte
Clayme as hys owne to be, whyche nee from hys moste parte.
And cann I lyve to see herr wythe anere?
Ytt cannotte, muste nott, naie, ytt shalle not bee.
Thys nyghte I'll putte stronge poysonn ynn the beere,
And hymm, herr, and myselfe, attenes wyll slea.

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poem by Thomas Chatterton
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Confessio Amantis. Explicit Liber Secundus

Incipit Liber Tercius

Ira suis paribus est par furiis Acherontis,
Quo furor ad tempus nil pietatis habet.
Ira malencolicos animos perturbat, vt equo
Iure sui pondus nulla statera tenet.
Omnibus in causis grauat Ira, set inter amantes,
Illa magis facili sorte grauamen agit:
Est vbi vir discors leuiterque repugnat amori,
Sepe loco ludi fletus ad ora venit.

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If thou the vices lest to knowe,
Mi Sone, it hath noght ben unknowe,
Fro ferst that men the swerdes grounde,
That ther nis on upon this grounde,
A vice forein fro the lawe,
Wherof that many a good felawe
Hath be distraght be sodein chance;

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poem by John Gower
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