#EnglishWriters
Give that brief to me, Without so much bother; Never let it be Given to another. Why this coy resistance?
Warriors! who from the cannon’s mo… Your fame to raise, Upon its blaze, Alas! ye do but light your funeral… Tempting Fate’s stroke;
Oh this earth is a mineful of trea… A goblet, that’s full to the brim, And each man may take for his plea… The thing that’s most pleasant to… Then let all, who are birds of my…
Sleep, little baby, sleep, love, s… Evening is coming, and night is ni… Under the lattice the little birds… All will be sleeping by and by. Sleep, little baby, sleep.
Nothing so true as what you once l… “To growl at something is the lot… Contentment is a gem on earth unkn… And Perfect Happiness the wizard’… Give me,” you cried, “to see my du…
Three attorneys came sailing down… Down Chancery Lane e’er the court… They thought of the leaders they o… But the Junior Bar, oh, they thou… For serjeants get work and Q.C.'s…
The linnet had flown from its cage… And flitted and sang in the light… Had flown from the lady who loved… In Liberty’s freer air to dwell. Alas! poor bird, it was soon to pr…
You say ‘tis plain that poets feig… And from the truth depart; They write with ease what fibs the… With artifice, not art; Dearer to you the simply true—
The times still “grow to something… We rap and turn the tables; We fire our guns at awful range; We lay Atlantic cables; We bore the hills, we bridge the s…
Two neighbours, fighting for a yar… Two witnesses, who _lie_ on either… Two lawyers, issuing many writs an… Two clerks, in a dark passage coun… Two counsel, calling one another n…
The moon in the valley of Ajalon Stood still at the word of the pro… But since certain “Essays” were w… We don’t think so very much of it. Now, a prophet is raised up among…
In olden time—in great Eliza’s ag… When rare Ben Jonson ruled the hu… No play without its Prologue migh… To earn applause or ward the criti… And surely now old customs should…
Champagne doth not a luncheon make… Nor caviare a meal; Men gluttonous and rich may take These till they make them ill. If I’ve potatoes to my chop,
Oh for a field, my friend; oh for… I ask no more Than one plain field, shut in by h… Contentment sweet to yield. For I am not fastidious,
I know not what the cause may be, Or whether there be one or many; But this year’s Spring has seemed… More exquisite than any. What happy days we spent together