Thomas Chatterton Quotes

Mie love ys dedde, Gon to hys death-bedde, Al under the wyllowe tree. Waterre wytches, crownede wythe reytes, Bere mee to yer leathalle tyde. I die; I comme; mie true love waytes. Thos the damselle spake, and dyed.
Thomas Chatterton (1752-1770), British poet. Aella; a Tragycal Enterlude (l. 54-60). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New ed., rev. and enl., 1939) Oxford University Press.
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Liste! now the thunder's rattling clymmynge sound Cheves slowlie on, and then embollen clangs, Shakes the hie spyre, and losst, dispended, drown'd, Still on the gallard eare of terroure hanges; The windes are up; the lofty elmen swanges; Again the levynne and the thunder poures, And the full cloudes are braste attenes in stonen showers.
Thomas Chatterton (1752-1770), British poet. An Excelente Balade of Charitie (l. 36-42). . . The Oxford Anthology of English Poetry. Vol. I: Spenser to Crabbe. John Wain, ed. (1990) Oxford University Press.
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It is my PRIDE, my damn'd, native, unconquerable Pride, that plunges me into Distraction. You must know that 19-20th of my Composition is Pride. I must either live a Slave, a Servant; to have no Will of my own, no Sentiments of my own which I may freely declare as such;Mor DIE—perplexing alternative!
Thomas Chatterton (1752-1770), British poet. Letter, April 1770. Quoted in John Cranstoun Nevill, Thomas Chatterton (1948).
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