Thomas Browne

Thomas Browne Poems

Ye loit'ring minutes faster flee,
Y' are all ower slow by hauf for me,
That wait impatient for the mornin';
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The Best Poem Of Thomas Browne

A Song: I

Ye loit'ring minutes faster flee,
Y' are all ower slow by hauf for me,
That wait impatient for the mornin';
To-morn's the lang, lang-wish'd-for fair,
I'll try to shine the fooremost there,
Misen in finest claes adornin',
To grace the day.

I'll put my best white stockings on,
An' pair o' new cauf-leather shoon,
My clane wash'd gown o' printed cotton;
Aboot my neck a muslin shawl,
A new silk handkerchee ower all,
Wi' sike a careless air I'll put on,
I'll shine this day.

My partner Ned, I know, thinks he,
He'll mak hiss en secure o' me,
He's often said he'd treat me rarely;
But I's think o' some other fun,
I'll aim for some rich farmer's son,
And cheat oor simple Neddy fairly,
Sae sly this day.

Why mud not I succeed as weel,
An' get a man full oot genteel,
As awd John Darby's daughter Nelly?
I think misen as good as she,
She can't mak cheese or spin like me,
That's mair 'an beauty, let me tell ye,
On onny day.

Then hey! for sports and puppy shows,
An' temptin' spice-stalls rang'd i' rows,
An' danglin' dolls by t' necks all hangin';
An' thousand other pratty seets,
An' lasses traul'd alang the streets,
Wi' lads to t' yal-hoose gangin'
To drink this day.

Let's leuk at t' winder, I can see 't,
It seems as tho' 't was growin' leet,
The cloods wi' early rays adornin';
Ye loit'ring minutes faster flee,
Y' are all ower slow be hauf for me,
At wait impatient for the mornin'
O' sike a day.

Thomas Browne Comments

Thomas Browne Quotes

Yet is every man his own greatest enemy, and as it were his own executioner.

We all labour against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases.

I could be content that we might procreate like trees, without conjunction, or that there were any way to perpetuate the world without this trivial and vulgar way of coition.

A man may be in as just possession of truth as of a city, and yet be forced to surrender.

We term sleep a death ... by which we may be literally said to die daily; in fine, so like death, I dare not trust it without my prayers.

Obstinacy in a bad cause is but constancy in a good.

But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity.

Man is a noble animal, splendid in ashes, and pompous in the grave.

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