Thomas Copeland Jr.

here in my breast thou art the next of blood and tis thy right lo in this hollow cradle take thy rest my throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night there shall not be one minute in an hour wherein i will not kiss my sweet love's flower Thus weary of the world, away she hies, and yokes her silver doves, by whose swift aid their mistress, mounted through the empty skies, in her light chariot quickly is conveyed, holding their course to Paphos, where their queen means to immure herself, and not be seen.

FINIS The End of Venus and Adonis by William Shakespeare Recording by Thomas Copeland

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Third Planter read by Paezra.

Fourth Planter read by Thomas Copeland.

Slave read by Al G. Pug.

Singing Slave sung by Alan Mapstone.

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Front Matter Part 1.

Preface by the Reverend H. C. Beeching, M.A.

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Reporting by Thomas Copeland.

This is the month, and this the happy morn, wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King of wedded maid and virgin mother born, our great redemption from above did bring for so the holy sages once did sing that he our deadly forfeit should release and with his father work us a perpetual peace that glorious form that light unsufferable and that far beaming blaze of majesty wherewith he wont at heav'ns high council table to sit the midst of trinal unity he laid aside and here with us to be forsook the courts of everlasting day and chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay say heav'nly muse shall not thy sacred vein afford a present to th'infant god hast thou no verse no hymn or solemn strain to welcome him to this his new abode now while the heav'n by the suns team untrod hath took no print of th'approaching light and all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright see how from far upon the eastern road the star-led wizards haste with odours sweet o run prevent them with thy humble ode and lay it lowly at his blessed feet have thou the honour first thy lord to greet and join thy voice unto the angel choir from out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire the hymn it was the winter wild while the heaven-born child all meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies nature in awe to him had doff'd her gaudy trim with her great master so to sympathize it was no season then for her to wanton with the sun her lusty paramour only with speeches fair she woo'd the gentle air to hide her guilty front with innocent snow and on her naked shame pollute with sinful blame the saintly veil of maiden white to throw confounded that her maker's eyes should look so near upon her foul deformities but he her fears to cease sent down the meek-eyed peace she crown'd with olive green came softly sliding down to the turning sphere his ready harpinger with turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing and waving wide her myrtle wand she strikes a universal peace through sea and land no war or battle sound was heard the world around the idle spear and shield were high up hung the hookd chariot stood unstain'd with hostile blood the trumpet spake not to th armd throng and kings sate still with awefull eye as if they surely knew thir sovran lord was by but peacefull was the night wherein the prince of light his reign of peace upon the earth began the winds with wonder whist smoothly the waters kist whispering new joys to the mild ocean Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.

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VENUS AND ADONIS by William Shakespeare.

VENUS AND ADONIS by William Shakespeare.

Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.

it shall be cause of war and dire events and set dissension twixt the sun and sire subject and servile to all discontents as dry combustious matter is to fire sith in his prime death doth my love destroy they that love best their love shall not enjoy by this the boy that by her side lay kill'd was melted like a vapour from her sight and in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd a purple flower sprung up checkerd with white resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood which in round drops upon their whiteness stood she bows her head the new sprung flower to smell comparing it to her adonis breath and says within her bosom it shall dwell since he himself is reft from her by death she crops the stalk and in the breach appears green dropping sap which she compares to tears poor flower quoth she this was thy father's guise sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire for every little grief to wet his eyes to grow unto himself was his desire and so tis thy but no it is as good to wither in my breast as in his blood here was thy father's bed here in my breast thou art the next of blood and tis thy right lo in this hollow cradle take thy rest my throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night there shall not be one minute and an hour wherein i will not kiss my sweet love's flower thus weary of the world away she hies and yokes her silver doves by whose swift aid their mistress mounted through the empty skies in her light chariot quickly is convey'd holding their course to Paphos, where their queen means to immure herself, and not be seen.

Finis The End of Venus and Adonis by William Shakespeare Recording by Thomas Copeland

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a selection from the lyrical poems of robert herrick preface by the editor francis turner palgrave robert herrick born fifteen ninety one died sixteen seventy four those who most admire the poet from whose many pieces a selection only here is offered will it is probable feel most strongly with the editor that excuse is needed for an attempt of an obviously presumptuous nature the choice made by any selector invites challenge the admission perhaps of some poems the absence of more will be censured whilst others may wholly condemn the process in virtue of an argument not unfrequently advanced of late that a writer's judgment on his own work is to be considered final and his book to be taken as he left it or left altogether a literal reproduction of the original text being occasionally included in this requirement If poetry were composed solely for her faithful band of true lovers and true students, such a facsimile as that last indicated would have claims irresistible.

But if the first and last object of this, as of the other fine arts, may be defined in language borrowed from a different range of thought as the greatest pleasure of the greatest number, it is certain that less stringent forms of reproduction are required and justified.

Section 2 of a selection from the lyrical poems of Robert Herrick.

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read by thomas copeland prefatory the argument of his book i sing of brooks of blossoms birds and bowers of april may of june and july flowers i sing of may-poles hawk-carts wassails wakes of bridegrooms brides and of their bridal cakes i write of youth of love and have access by these to sing of cleanly wantonness I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by piece of balm, of oil, of spice, and ambergris.

I sing of times transshifting, and I write how roses first came red and lilies white.

Its full title is Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, a Middle English Arthurian romance retold in modern prose with introduction and notes.

The reader is Thomas Copeland.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight Preface The poem, of which the following pages offer a prose rendering, is contained in a manuscript believed to be unique, of the Catonian collection Nero A. X., preserved in the British Museum.

The manuscript is of the end of the 14th century, but it is possible that the composition of the poem is somewhat earlier.

Bournemouth, June, 1898.

End of preface.

Recording by Thomas Copeland.

CHAPTER I After the siege and the assault of Troy, when that burg was destroyed and burnt to ashes, and the traitor slain for his treason, the noble Aeneas and his kin sailed forth to become princes and patrons of well nigh all the western isles.

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A Selection from the Lyrical Poems of Robert Herrick.

Preface by the editor Francis Turner Palgrave.

There is no overstrain, no spasmodic cry, no wire-drawn analysis or sensational rhetoric, no music without sense, no mere second-hand literary inspiration, no mannered archaism.

above all no sickly sweetness no subtle unhealthy affectation throughout his work whether when it is strong or in the less worthy portions sanity sincerity simplicity lucidity are everywhere the characteristics of herrick in these not in his petty pagan masquerade he shows the note the only genuine note of hellenic descent hence through whatever changes and fashions poetry may pass her true lovers he is likely to please now and please for long his verse in the words of a poet greater than himself is of that quality which adds sunlight to daylight which is able to make the happy happier he will it may be hoped carry to the many englands across the seas east and west pictures of english life exquisite in truth and grace to the more fortunate inhabitants as they must perforce hold themselves of the old country her image as she was two centuries since will live in the golden apples of the west offered to us by this sweet singer of devonshire we have greater poets not a few none more faithful to nature as he saw her, none more perfect in his art, none more companionable.

F. T. P. December, 1876. read by thomas copeland prefatory the argument of his book i sing of brooks of blossoms birds and bowers of april may of june and july flowers i sing of may-poles hawk-carts wassails wakes of bridegrooms brides and of their bridal cakes i write of youth of love and have access by these to sing of cleanly wantonness I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by piece of balm, of oil, of spice, and ambergris.

I sing of times transshifting, and I write how roses first came red and lilies white.

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fifty one tales by lord dunsany the assignation fame singing in the highways and trifling as she sang with sordid adventurers passed the poet by and still the poet made for her little chaplets of song to deck her forehead in the courts of time and still she wore instead the worthless garlands that boisterous citizens flung to her in the waves made out of perishable things and after a while whenever these garlands died the poet came to her with his chaplets of song and still she laughed at him and wore the worthless wreaths though they always died at evening and one day in his bitterness the poet rebuked her and said to her lovely fame even in the highways and the byways you have not forborne to laugh and shout and jest with worthless men and i have toiled for you and dreamed of you and you mock me and pass me by Anne Fame turned her back on him and walked away, but, in departing, she looked over her shoulder and smiled at him as she had not smiled before, and, almost speaking in a whisper, said, I will meet you in the graveyard at the back of the workhouse in a hundred years.

Karen.

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Gargantua and Pantagruel, Book Four by François Rabelais, translated by Peter Anthony Motteux and John Ozell.

Front matter.

Section one of Gargantua and Pantagruel, book four by François Rabelais, translated by John Ozell and Anthony Monteux.

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Gregory Thomas Copeland Part one Chapter four One, how Pantagruel went to sea to visit the oracle at Bacbuc, alias the Holy Bottle.

In the month of June, on Vesta's holiday, the very numerical day on which Brutus, conquering Spain, taught its strutting dons to chuckle under him, and that niggardly miser Crassus was routed and knocked on the head by the Parthians, Pantagruel took his leave of the good Gargantua, his royal father.