SCOTT, Walter (1771-1832) 105, 170, 182, 186, 192, 194, 196, 204, 230, 234, 236, 239, 263 SEDLEY, Charles (1639-1701) 81, 98 SEWELL, George (-- -1726) 163 SHAKESPEARE, William (1564-1616) 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 18, 19, 20, 23, 24, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 36, 39, 42, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49 50, 56, 60 SHELLEY, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822) 172, 176, 184, 188, 195, 203, 226, 227, 241, 246, 252, 259, 260, 264, 265, 268, 271, 274, 275, 277, 285, 288 SHIRLEY, James (1596-1666) 68, 69 SIDNEY, Philip (1554-1586) 24 SOUTHEY, Robert (1774-1843) 216, 228 SPENSER, Edmund (1553-1598/9) 53 SUCKLING, John (1608/9-1641) 101 SYLVESTER, Joshua (1563-1618) 25 THOMSON, James (1700-1748) 122, 136 VAUGHAN, Henry (1621-1695) 75 VERE, Edward (1534-1604) 41 WALLER, Edmund (1605-1687) 89, 95 WEBSTER, John (-- -1638?) 47 WITHER, George (1588-1667) 103 WOLFE, Charles (1791-1823) 218 WORDSWORTH, William (1770-1850) 174, 177, 178, 179, 180, 189, 200, 208, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 219, 223, 238, 240, 242, 243, 245, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251, 253, 254, 257, 258, 261, 266, 269, 272, 273, 276, 278, 279, 281, 282, 286, 287 WOTTON, Henry (1568-1639) 72, 84 WYAT, Thomas (1503-1542) 21, 33 UNKNOWN: 9, 17, 40, 80, 86, 91, 94, 97, 106, 107, 108, 128 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. Absence, hear thou my protestation A Chieftain to the Highlands bound A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by Ah, Chloris! could I now but sit Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd All thoughts, all passions, all delights And are ye sure the news is true? And is this Yarrow?--This the Stream And thou art dead, as young and fair And wilt thou leave me thus? Ariel to Miranda:--Take Art thou pale for weariness Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? As it fell upon a day As I was walking all alane A slumber did my spirit seal As slow our ship her foamy track A sweet disorder in the dress At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughter'd Saints, whose bones Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake Awake, awake, my Lyre! A weary lot is thine, fair maid A wet sheet and a flowing sea A widow bird sate mourning for her Love Bards of Passion and of Mirth Beauty sat bathing by a spring Behold her, single in the field Being your slave, what should I do but tend Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Best and brightest, come away Bid me to live, and I will live Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy Blow, blow, thou winter wind Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art