Poems, viz. 1. A panegyrick to the king. 2. Songs and sonnets. 3. The blind lady, a comedy. 4. The fourth book of Virgil, 5. Statius his Achilleis, with annotations. 6. A panegyrick to Generall Monck. / By the Honorable Sr Robert Howard.
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Title
Poems, viz. 1. A panegyrick to the king. 2. Songs and sonnets. 3. The blind lady, a comedy. 4. The fourth book of Virgil, 5. Statius his Achilleis, with annotations. 6. A panegyrick to Generall Monck. / By the Honorable Sr Robert Howard.
Author
Howard, Robert, Sir, 1626-1698.
Publication
London, :: Printed for Henry Herringman, and are to be sold at his shop at the sign of the Anchor on the lower Walk of the New Exchange.,
1660.
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Link to this Item
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"Poems, viz. 1. A panegyrick to the king. 2. Songs and sonnets. 3. The blind lady, a comedy. 4. The fourth book of Virgil, 5. Statius his Achilleis, with annotations. 6. A panegyrick to Generall Monck. / By the Honorable Sr Robert Howard." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A86610.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 15, 2024.
Pages
ACT. 5. SCEN. 3.
Enter Phylanter, Solus disguised.
Phyl.
WHat is the next thing how that must be done?How weary all the World and IAm grown of one another? I should be friendsWith this disguise, could it but hide my crimes:But night it self that great disguifer,Wants power to conceal the least of crimesFrom any troubled breast, when man would fainBe unacquainted with himself again:
descriptionPage 125
'Tis just too, when we have our selves betraidThat we should be then of our selves afraidAmbition onely is our nature's folly,That robs us of that little stock of reason,We have at temperate and idle hours.If we but take the inventory of our selves,There we shall find such perisht stuffBy rage and passion, that 'tis justWe should be once forgotten in the dust;—But for my new design—ha—'tis oddTo throw my self into the power of them—As if 'twere meannesse, or something poorer; fear——Yet—let it dye
[Studies.
Enter Amione. Hyp. Pys.
Ha—she comes——A Persian's cold devotion thus,Receives new warmness from the rising Sun—It must be so—He that would hide Love kindled once within,Rakes but his fire up to keep it in.
Hyp.
We take our leaves now Madam, for we seeThere's one attends you from the
Exe. Hip. Pysan.
Lord Phylanter,
Phyl.
Madam, my Lord Phylanter sent me hitherIn his own language to present you SafetyGreat as you merit.
Amio.
I thank you Sir, he has obliged me nobly:Had he forgot his crimes, I should forgetHe were an enemy.
Phyl.
He bid me tell you farther,That he had waited on you here himself,
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But that he fear'd to injure your fair eyes,That should be onely pleas'd with welcom objects.
Amio.
Ha: perish you easie thoughts, that start
[aside.
At hearing of that name, yet when you think of himI may forgive you, if you thenFrighten your selves,—And yet it may be Love; ruines of LoveAnd lightning are alike—For, what would willingly resistThey both consume; I shall attend you Sir,If you please to lead the way—
[Exeunt.
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