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Updated: June 19, 2025
The best miscellaneous lyrics are the songs in Shakespeare's Cymbeline, The Tempest, and As You Like It. Drayton's Ballad of Agincourt and Sonnet 61 are his best lyrical verse. Read Ben Jonson's An Epitaph on Salathiel Pavy and, from his Pindaric Ode, the stanza beginning: "It is not growing like a tree." From John Donne, read either The Funeral, The Canonization, or The Dream.
Drayton's own answer to her question was that the whole thing looked queer "not that I would imply anything against poor Lydia's character, but it looks queer; and if you count back " Miss Lydia's reply for of course the question was asked her as soon as she and the baby, and the bandbox and the carpetbag got off the stage one March afternoon Miss Lydia's answer was brief: "A friend's."
In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries there was quite a colony of jurists hard by the temple of Gogmagog and Cosineus or Gog and Magog, as the grotesque giants are designated by the unlearned, who know not the history of the two famous effigies, which originally figured in an Elizabethan pageant, stirring the wonder of the illiterate, and reminding scholars of two mythical heroes about whom the curious reader of this paragraph may learn further particulars by referring to Michael Drayton's 'Polyolbion.
In the latter part of Elizabeth's reign, sonnets were even called "merchantable ware." Drayton's best sonnet is, Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part. Outside of the sonnets, we shall find love lyrics in great variety. One of the most popular of Elizabethan songs is Ben Jonson's:
After resting for nearly a week at Frederick City, Md., the battalion, with the Fifteenth South Carolina and the Georgians of Drayton's Brigade, was ordered to re-enforce General D.H. Hill, who was guarding Lee's rear at Crompton's Gap, in South Mountain.
By degrees, the quiet and the peace crept into Miss Drayton's heart. She was content to wait. In this good world of ours, everything is sure to come out right in the end. And then, in the mellow sunlight, down the box-bordered walk, past the sun-dial, toward the stone bench, came a little figure. "Mr. Brown said that a lady oh! oh! it's you!" "Dear little Anne! dear little Anne!"
The colonel's pet had flown. This meant more trouble for the colonel. Meantime Stanley Armstrong had hied him to General Drayton's headquarters.
We learn, from other sources, that he continued to write and print in defence of his religious views up to the year of his death, which took place in 1713. One of his productions, a poetical version of the Life of David, may be still met with, in the old Quaker libraries. On the score of poetical merit, it is about on a level with Michael Drayton's verses on the same subject.
"You've been living with your uncle since?" asked Miss Drayton, gently. "Yes. Uncle Carey. Where is he? I do want Uncle Carey so bad." The child's voice trembled. "Don't worry, dear. We'll find him," said Miss Drayton, as they left the dining-room. The captain, who had kept his eyes on the little party, anticipated Miss Drayton's questioning. Drawing her aside, he explained the situation.
In the midst of the cheer the knocker sounded, and, as though in answer to Clifford's wish, the door swung back quietly, and John Drayton entered. Peggy sprang up at sight of him. "Thee is just in time, John," she cried gaily. "Clifford was just wishing for thee. I'll lay a plate for thee." "Clifford?" Drayton's tones were filled with astonishment.
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