OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Cynthia/Sonnet 5

V.
It is reported of faire Thetis' Sonne (Achilles famous for his chiualry, His noble minde and magnanimitie), That when the Troian wars were new begun, Whos'euer was deepe-wounded with his speare, Could neuer be recured of his maime, Nor euer after be made whole againe: Except with that speares rust he holpen were. Euen so it fareth with my fortune now, Who being wounded with his piercing eie, Must either thereby finde a remedy, Or els to be releeu'd I know not how. Then if thou hast a minde still to annoy me, Kill me with kisses, if thou wilt destroy me.
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Poems/A Remembrance of Some English Poets

A REMEMBRANCE OF SOME ENGLISH POETS.
LIUE Spenser euer, in thy Fairy Queene: Whose like (for deepe Conceit) was neuer scene: Crownd mayst thou bee, vnto thy more renowne, (As King of Poets) with a Lawrell Crowne.
And Daniell, praised for thy sweet-chast Verse: Whose Fame is grav'd on Rosamonds blacke Herse. Still mayst thou liue: and still be honored, Eor that rare Worke, The White Rose and the Red.
And Drayton, whose wel-written Tragedies, And sweete Epistles, soare thy fame to skies. Thy learned Name, is sequall with the rest; Whose stately Numbers are so well addrest.
And Shakespeare thou, whose hony-flowing Vaine, (Pleasing the World) thy Praises doth obtaine. Whose Venus and whose Lucrece (sweete, and chaste) Thy Name in fames immortall Booke haue plac't. Liue euer you, at least in Fame liue euer: Well may the Bodye dye, but Fame dies neuer.
* ↑ 1695, no capital V.
* ↑ Ibid. no hyphen and no capital V.
* ↑ Ibid. "thy praises doth containe."
* ↑ Ibid. no capital V.
* ↑ Ibid. Finis after this 'Remembrance.'
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Cynthia/To the curteous Gentlemen Readers

​To the curteous Gentlemen Readers.
Gentlemen; the last Terme there came forth a little toy of mine, intituled, The affectionate Shepheard: In the which, his Country Content found such friendly favor, that it hath incouraged me to publish my second fruites. The affectionate Shepheard being the first: howsoeuer undeseruedly (I protest) I haue beene thought (of some) to haue been the authour of two Books heretofore. I neede not to name them, because they are too- well knowne already; nor will I deny them, because they are dislik't; but because they are not mine. This protestation (I hope) will satisfie th' indifferent: and as for them that are maliciously enuious, as I cannot, so I care not to please. Some there were, that did interpret The affectionate Shepheard, otherwise then (in truth) I meant, touching the subiect thereof, to wit, the loue of a Shepheard to a boy; a fault, the which I will not excuse, because I neuer made. Onely this, I will vnshaddow my conceit: being nothing else, but an imitation of Virgill, in the second Eglogue of Alexis. In one or two places (in this Booke) I vse the name of Eliza pastorally: wherein lest any one should misconster my meaning (as I hope none will) I haue here briefly discouered my harmeles conceipt as concerning that name: whereof once (in a simple Shepheards deuice) I wrot this Epigramme—
One name there is, which name aboue all other I most esteeme, as time and place shall proue: The one is Vesta, th' other Cupids mother. The first my Goddesse is, the last my loue; Subiect to Both I am: to that by birth; To this for beautie; fairest on the earth.
Thus, hoping you will beare with my rude conceit of Cynthia, (if for no other cause, yet, for that it is the first imitation of the verse of that excellent Poet Maister Spencer, in his Fayrie Queene), I leaue you to the reading of that, which I so much desire may breed your Delight.
Richard Barnefeild.
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Cynthia/To his Mistresse

TO HIS MISTRESSE.
Bright Starre of Beauty, fairest Faire aliue, Rare president of peerelesse chastity; (In whom the Muses and the Graces striue, Which shall possesse the chiefest part of thee:) Oh let these simple lines accepted bee: Which here I offer at thy sacred shrine: Sacred, because sweet Beauty is diuine.
And though I cannot please each curious eare, With sugred Noates of heauenly Harmonie: Yet if my loue shall to thy selfe appeare, No other Muse I will inuoke but thee: And if thou wilt my faire Thalia be, Ile sing sweet Hymnes and praises to thy name, In that cleare Temple of eternal Fame.
But oh (alas) how can mine infant Muse (That neuer heard of Helicon before) Performe my promise past; when they refuse Poore Shepheards Plaints; yet will I still adore Thy sacred Name, although I write no more: Yet hope I shall, if this accepted bee: If not, in silence sleepe eternally.
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Part 4

IV.(A) THE ENCOMION OF LADY PECUNIA.
(B) THE COMPLAINT OF POETRIE FOR THE DEATH OF LIBERALITIE.
(C) THE COMBAT BETWEENE CONSCIENCE AND COUETOUSNESSE IN THE MINDE OF MAN.
(D) POEMS IN DIVERS HUMORS.
1598-1605.
Note.—Besides the fac-similes of the original title-pages of the Encomion of Lady Pecunia, &c. (1598) there precede it (in print) the title-page of the new edition of 1605. Mr. Collier has reprinted both—the latter a superfluity, as the additions are of no extent. In the places these additions are added, and also the few variæ lectiones. Mr. Collier imagined that the Bridgewater copy of the 1605 edition was unique, but there is a second in the Bodleian. See our Introduction on Mr. Collier's mistaken withdrawal of Barnefield's charming Ode from him to Shakespeare; also the Isham MS., at close of this volume, for the sonnet-dedicatory with a gift-copy of "Lady Pecunia," which is found (without the name of Spencer) in 1605 edition.—G.
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Cynthia/T. T. in commendation of the Author, his Works

T. T. in commendation of the Authour, his Worke.
Whylom that in a shepheards gray coate masked (Where masked loue the nonage of his skill), Reares new Eagle-winged pen, new tasked, To scale the by-clift Muse sole-pleasing hill: Dropping sweete Nectar poesie from his quill, Admires faire CYNTHIA with his iuory pen, Faire CYNTHIA lou'd, fear'd, of Gods and men.
Downe sliding from that cloudes ore-pearing mounteine: Decking with double grace the neighbour plaines, Drawes chrystall dew, from PEGASE foote-sprung fountain, Whose flower-set banks delights, sweet choice containes: Nere yet discouerd to the country swaines: Heere bud those branches, which adome his turtle, With loue made garlands, of heart-bleeding Mirtle.
Rays'd from the cynders of the thrice-sact towne: ILLIONS sooth-telling SYBILLIST appeares. Eclipsing Phæbvs' loue, with scornefull frowne, Whose tragicke end, affords warme-water teares, Eor pitty wanting PACOE, none forbeares, Such period haps, to beauties price ore-priz'd: Where IANVS-faced loue, doth lurke disguiz'd.
Nere waining CYNTHIA yeelds thee triple thankes, Whose beames vnborrowed darke the worlds faire eie. And as full streames that euer fill their bankes, So those rare Sonnets, where wits tipe doth lie, With Troian Nimph, doe scare thy fame to skie. And those, and these, contend thy Muse to raise (Larke mounting Muse) with more then common praise.
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/Poems/A Comparison of the Life of Man

A COMPARISON OF THE LIFE OF MAN.
Mans life is well compared to a feast, Furnisht with choice of all Varietie: To it comes Tyme; and as a bidden guest Hee sets him downe, in Pompe and Maiestie; The three-folde Age of Man, the Waiters bee. Then with an earthen voyder (made of clay) Comes Death, & takes the table clean away.
FINIS.
* ↑ 1605, no capital T.
* ↑ Ibid. 'sits.'
* ↑ Ibid. no capital A.
* ↑ Ibid. 'a.'
# The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/From England's Helicon/The Vnknowne Sheepheards Complaint

¶ THE VNKNOWNE SHEEPHEARDS COMPLAINT.
My Flocks feede not, my Ewes breede not, My Rammes speede not, all is amisse: Loue is denying, Faith is defying, Harts renying, causer of this. All my merry Iiggs are quite forgot, All my Ladies loue is lost God wot. Where her faith was firmely fixt in loue. There a nay is plac'd without remoue. One silly crosse, wrought all my losse, O frowning Fortune, cursed fickle Dame: For now I see, inconstancie More in women then in men remaine.
In black mourne I, all feares scorne I, Loue hath forlorne me, liuing in thrall: Hart is bleeding, all helpe needing, O cruell speeding, frauglited with gall. My Sheepheards pipe can sound no deale, My Weathers bell rings dolefull knell. My curtaile dogge that wont to haue plaide, Playes not at all, but seemes afraide. With sighs so deepe, procures to weepe, In howling-wise, to see my dolefull plight: How sighs resound, through hartlesse ground, Like a thousand vanquish 'd men in bloody fight.
Cleare Wells spring not, sweet birds sing not, Greene plants bring not foorth their die: Heards stand weeping, Flocks all sleeping, Nimphs back peeping fearcfully. All our pleasure knowne to vs poore Swaines, All our merry meeting on the Plaines. All our euening sports from vs are fled, All our loue is lost, for Loue is dead. Farewell sweete Loue, thy like nere was. For sweete content, the cause of all my moane: Poore Coridon must liue alone, Other helpe for him, I see that there is none.
# The Booke of Thenseygnementes and Techynge that the Knyght of the Towre made to his Doughters/Chapter 83

THE THRE ENSEYGNEMENTES OR LERNYNGES WHICHE CATHON GAF TO HIS SONE.
NOTHER ensample j will telle yow of the wyse Cathon, by whos wysedome was all the Cyte of Rome gouerned. He made & wrote many fayr auctorytees, the whiche yet as now make grete memore of hym. This Cathon had a sone, and as he was in the bedde of his deth, he callyd his sone to hym, the whiche had to name Cathonet, and sayd to hym, "Fayre sone, I have longe lyued in this world, whiche is moche hard to knowe, and moche merueyllous, and alwey shall wexe wors, as I trowe. Wherfore I wold and desyre moche that your gouernement and maner of lyuynge shold be good to the worship of yow and of all your frendes. I haue take therfore to yow by wrytynge many enseygnementes, the whiche shalle prouffyte to you herafter, yf ye therto wylle sette your herte and have them in youre memorye. Neuertheles I haue bethought in my self to telle and gyue yow other thre er i deye, wherfore I praye yow that euer ye wyll have them in your memorye.
# The Booke of Thenseygnementes and Techynge that the Knyght of the Towre made to his Doughters/Chapter 80

HOW LOUE WYLLE BE KEPTE WARME.
IRE Foucques de laual was a fayr knyght, clene & wel besene emong other, & was of good maner and of fayr maynten. It happed to hym, as he told me, that ones he was gone for to see his peramours in the wynter season, that the froste was grete and the wether passyng cold. He thenne hadde in the mornynge coynted hym self of a scarlatte gowne wel broudred, & of a hood of scarlatte sengle & wythoute furrynge, and nought els he had on hym sauf only his fyn sherte, for he had no mantell, neyther gloues in his handes. The wynd and the cold were grete, wher fore he had soo grete cold that he became of colour black and pale, for the perles ne the precious stones wiche were on the broudryng of his sengle gowne couthe gyue hym no hete ne kepe hym fro the cold. There came another knyght, whiche also was amerous of that lady, but he was not so gay aourned, ne so sengle of clothes, but he had on hym good and warme gownes, & had a mantell and a double hood, and was reed as a cok, and had a good lyuynge colour. The lady thenne welcomed this knyght, and maade to hym better chere than she dyd to Syre Foucques, and held with hym better companye, and sayd to Syre Foucques, "Syre, hold yow nere the fyre, for I doubte that ye be not al hool, for your colour is dede and pale." And he ansuerd that his herte was ioyous and well at his ease. This other knyght was fayrer to the lady syght than Foucques. But within a whyle after, Syre Foucques aspyed the knyght, whiche was goynge toward the place of his peramours. He arayed hym otherwyse than he was wonte to doo, and so moche hyed hym that he came thyder as soone as the other knyght dyd, for to preue how the mater and his faytte shold ende. But certaynly he was thenne take of his lady for the fayrest and best coloured, wherfore he told me how loue wylle be kepte hete and warme, ​and how that he had approuued hit. Therfore hit is grete folye to kepe hys body sengle of clothes for to seme to the folkes syght better maad & fayrer of body. Yet vpon this matere I wylle reherce vnto you a grete merueylle, how many one deyd for cold.
# The Booke of Thenseygnementes and Techynge that the Knyght of the Towre made to his Doughters/Chapter 85

THE THYRD ENSEYGNEMENT.
HE thyrd Enseygnement is, that ye preue and essaye your wyf to wete and knowe yf she shalle kepe secretely your counceylle, whiche parauenture myght be cause of your dethe. For there ben somme whiche ben moche wyse, and that can wel kepe secretely what that someuer men sayen to them, and the whiche also gyue good counceylle and aduysement. And somme ben that can neuer kepe theyr tongue, but telle alle that is sayd to them, as well ageynste them as for them." And thus the wyse Cathon gaf this thre enseygnementes to his sone, as he laye seke at the poynt of his dethe. This trewe and wyse man Cathon deyde, and his sone abode on lyue, whiche was hold sage and wyse, in so moche that themperour of Rome toke hym his sone for to endoctryne ani teche hym. And afterward he maade some lordes to speke to hym for to withold hym to gouerne and sette in good rewle the grete fayttes and materes of Rome, and promysed hym to baue therby grete auaylles and prouffytees, wherfor and by the couetyse of these prouffytees he consented to take thoffyce, and toke on hym the charge of it, and forgate thenseygnement and techynge of his fader. And after, whan he was stablysshed and receyued in his offyce, he rode on a daye thorugh the hyghe strete with grete companye of folke whiche folowed hym. He sawe a theef whiche men conueyed to the galhows for to be hanged, whiche was moche yonge. Thenne sayd one to Cathon, whiche stood by hym, "Syre, by cause of the nouellyte of your offyce, ye may wel respyte and kepe this man fro dethe." And he withoute enquest by hym made of the caas why he was juged to receyue dethe, made hym to be vnbound, and by cause of the nouellyte of his offyce he kepte the theef fro dethe. He was to hasty, for at that tyme he thougt not on the commaundement that his fader had made vnto hym.
# The Booke of Thenseygnementes and Techynge that the Knyght of the Towre made to his Doughters/Chapter 84

THE FYRSTE ENSEYGNEMENT.
HE fyrst enseygnement of the thre is this: that ye take none offyce of your souerayne lord, yf so be that ye have good ynough & good suffysaunte after as your estate ought to haue, and nomore ye ought to aske of God. And therfore ye ought not put your self in subiection to lose your good by somme euyll word or by somme euyll reporte. For certaynly, my fayr sone, there be lordes of dyuerse condycions and maners. Somme ben hasty, and that lyghtely bileue, and somme haue other maners of condycion. And therfore men oughte to haue suffysaunce, and be doubtynge to put hym self, his estate, and worship, in parylle, and in the daunger of folke whiche ben lyght of wylle. The second enseygnement is, that ye respyte no man that hath deseruyd to deye, & specially yf he be custommed to doo euylle. For yf ye soo dyde, ye shold be participant in al the euylle that he afterward shold doo, as ryght were.
THE THRE ENSEYGNEMENTES OR LARNYNGES WHICH CATHON GAF TO HIS SONE
# The Complete Works of Count Tolstoy/Childhood/Chapter 9

IX.
Something Like First Love
As Lyúbochka represented that she was plucking some American fruit from a tree, she pulled down, together with a leaf, an immense worm; she threw it away in terror, lifted up her hands, and jumped aside, as if afraid that something might burst from it. The game stopped, we all fell to the ground, touching our heads, to get a glimpse of that peculiar thing.
I was looking over Kátenka's shoulder, who was trying to lift the worm on a leaf which she placed in its way.
I had noticed that many girls were in the habit of shrugging their shoulders, whenever they tried to restore the low-necked dress to its proper place. I remember how Mimi used to get angry at that motion, saying: "C'est un geste de femme de chambre." As Kátenka was bending over the worm, she made that very motion, and at the same time the wind raised her little braid from her white neck. Her shoulder was, during that motion of hers, about two feet from my lips. I was no longer looking at the worm, but right straight at her shoulder, which I gave a smacking kiss. She did not turn round, but I noticed that her neck and ears were blushing. Volódya did not raise his head, but said, contemptuously:
"What tenderness!"
There were tears in my eyes.
I did not take my eyes away from Kátenka. I had long been used to her fresh, fair face, and I always loved ​it; but now I began to look more closely at it, and loved it even more. When we walked up to the grown people, papa announced to our great delight that, at mother's request, our departure was postponed till the next morning.
We rode back together with the carriage. Volódya and I, desirous to surpass each other in the art of horseback riding and in daring, made all kinds of evolutions near it. My shadow was now longer than before, and, judging by it, I supposed that I had the appearance of a fine-looking rider; but the feeling of self-satisfaction which I was experiencing was soon shattered by the following incident. Wishing to gain the final applause of all those who were seated in the carriage, I lagged a little behind, then, with the aid of whip and legs, put the horse to a gallop, assumed a carelessly graceful attitude, and attempted to pass in a whirl on the side of the carriage, where Kátenka was sitting. The only thing I did not know was whether to pass by in silence, or with a shout. But the miserable horse stopped so suddenly the moment it came in a line with the carriage horses, in spite of all my efforts to the contrary, that I flew over the saddle upon its neck, and came very near rolling off.
# The Confidence-Man (Melville)/Chapter 33

CHAPTER XXXIII.
which may pass for whatever it may prove to be worth.
But ere be given the rather grave story of Charlemont, a reply must in civility be made to a certain voice which methinks I hear, that, in view of past chapters, and more particularly the last, where certain antics appear, exclaims: How unreal all this is! Who did ever dress or act like your cosmopolitan? And who, it might be returned, did ever dress or act like harlequin?
Strange, that in a work of amusement, this severe fidelity to real life should be exacted by any one, who, by taking up such a work, sufficiently shows that he is not unwilling to drop real life, and turn, for a time, to something different. Yes, it is, indeed, strange that any one should clamor for the thing he is weary of; that any one, who, for any cause, finds real life dull, should yet demand of him who is to divert his attention from it, that he should be true to that dullness.
There is another class, and with this class we side, who sit down to a work of amusement tolerantly as they sit at a play, and with much the same expectations and feelings. They look that fancy shall evoke scenes different from those of the same old crowd round the ​custom-house counter, and same old dishes on the boarding-house table, with characters unlike those of the same old acquaintances they meet in the same old way every day in the same old street. And as, in real life, the proprieties will not allow people to act out themselves with that unreserve permitted to the stage; so, in books of fiction, they look not only for more entertainment, but, at bottom, even for more reality, than real life itself can show. Thus, though they want novelty, they want nature, too; but nature unfettered, exhilarated, in effect transformed. In this way of thinking, the people in a fiction, like the people in a play, must dress as nobody exactly dresses, talk as nobody exactly talks, act as nobody exactly acts. It is with fiction as with religion: it should present another world, and yet one to which we feel the tie.
If, then, something is to be pardoned to well-meant endeavor, surely a little is to be allowed to that writer who, in all his scenes, does but seek to minister to what, as he understands it, is the implied wish of the more indulgent lovers of entertainment, before whom harlequin can never appear in a coat too parti-colored, or cut capers too fantastic.
One word more. Though every one knows how bootless it is to be in all cases vindicating one's self, never mind how convinced one may be that he is never in the wrong; yet, so precious to man is the approbation of his kind, that to rest, though but under an imaginary censure applied to but a work of imagination, is no easy thing. The mention of this weakness will explain why ​all such readers as may think they perceive something inharmonious between the boisterous hilarity of the cosmopolitan with the bristling cynic, and his restrained good-nature with the boon-companion, are now referred to that chapter where some similar apparent inconsistency in another character is, on general principles, modestly endeavored to be apologized for.
# The Confidence-Man (Melville)/Chapter 32

CHAPTER XXXII.
showing that the age of magic and magicians is not yet over.
While speaking or rather hissing those words, the boon companion underwent much such a change as one reads of in fairy-books. Out of old materials sprang a new creature. Cadmus glided into the snake.
The cosmopolitan rose, the traces of previous feeling vanished; looked steadfastly at his transformed friend a moment, then, taking ten half-eagles from his pocket, stooped down, and laid them, one by one, in a circle round him; and, retiring a pace, waved his long tasseled pipe with the air of a necromancer, an air heightened by his costume, accompanying each wave with a solemn murmur of cabalistical words.
Meantime, he within the magic-ring stood suddenly rapt, exhibiting every symptom of a successful charm—a turned cheek, a fixed attitude, a frozen eye; spellbound, not more by the waving wand than by the ten invincible talismans on the floor.
"Reappear, reappear, reappear, oh, my former friend! Replace this hideous apparition with thy blest shape, and be the token of thy return the words, 'My dear Frank.' "
​"My dear Frank," now cried the restored friend, cordially stepping out of the ring, with regained self-possession regaining lost identity, "My dear Frank, what a funny man you are; full of fun as an egg of meat. How could you tell me that absurd story of your being in need? But I relish a good joke too well to spoil it by letting on. Of course, I humored the thing; and, on my side, put on all the cruel airs you would have me. Come, this little episode of fictitious estrangement will but enhance the delightful reality. Let us sit down again, and finish our bottle."
"With all my heart," said the cosmopolitan, dropping the necromancer with the same facility with which he had assumed it. "Yes," he added, soberly picking up the gold pieces, and returning them with a chink to his pocket, "yes, I am something of a funny man now and then; while for you, Charlie," eying him in tenderness, "what you say about your humoring the thing is true enough; never did man second a joke better than you did just now. You played your part better than I did mine; you played it, Charlie, to the life."
"You see, I once belonged to an amateur play company; that accounts for it. But come, fill up, and let's talk of something else."
"Well," acquiesced the cosmopolitan, seating himself, and quietly brimming his glass, "what shall we talk about?"
"Oh, anything you please," a sort of nervously accommodating.
"Well, suppose we talk about Charlemont?"
​"Charlemont? What's Charlemont? Who's Charlemont?"
"You shall hear, my dear Charlie," answered the cosmopolitan. "I will tell you the story of Charlemont, the gentleman-madman."