Thus till man end, his vanities goe round, In credit here, and there discredited; Striving to binde, and never to be bound; To governe God, and not bee governed: Which is the cause his life is thus confused, In his corruption, by these arts abused. LORD BROOKE. It was the early afternoon of a fine open day in the last week of April, in the year 1640. The sun shone warm; not a breath of wind was stirring the tender foliage of the tall trees, or the delicate flower of the lowly harebell beneath the hedge-rows. All was still, save that at intervals the voice of the cuckoo was heard--loud, but yet mellow--from the bosom of a neighbouring wood. The swains in the field lay stretched in the shade,…
Your support pays for translating these classics into more languages.
Support for $12/month DonateSubscribers read with instant translation, without waiting for the free daily limit.