#Renaissance
Kisse mee, Sweet: The wary lover Can your favours keepe, and cover, When the common courting jay All your bounties will betray. Kisse againe: no creature comes.
Let it not your wonder move, Less your laughter, that I love. Though I now write fifty years, I have had, and have, my peers; Poets, though divine, are men,
Wouldst thou hear what man can say In a little? Reader, stay. Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die; Which in life did harbor give
Madame, VVhil’st that, for which all vert… And almost every vice, almightie g… That which, to boote with hell, is… And for it, life, conscience, yea…
The Turn Brave infant of Saguntum, clear Thy coming forth in that great yea… When the prodigious Hannibal did… His rage, with razing your immorta…
The long laments I spent for ruin… Are dried; and now mine eyes run t… No more shall men suppose Electra… Though from the consort of her sis… Unto the Artick circle, here to g…
THE faery beam upon you, The stars to glister on you; A moon of light In the noon of night, Till the fire-drake hath o’ergone…
Lucy, you brightness of our sphere… Life of the Muses’ day, their mor… If works, not th’ author’s, their… Whose poems would not wish to be y… But these, desir’d by you, the mak…
Epitaphs i WOULDST thou hear what Man can… In a little? Reader, stay. Underneath this stone doth lie As much Beauty as could die:
Do but consider this small dust Here running in the glass, By atoms moved; Could you believe that this The body was
I love, and he loves me again, Yet dare I not tell who; For if the nymphs should know my s… I fear they’d love him too; Yet if he be not known,
It will be looked for, book, when… Â Thy title, Epigrams, and named of me, Thou should’st be bold, licentious… Â Wormwood and sulphur, sharp and…
And must I sing? What subject sha… Or whose great name in poets’ heav… For the more countenance to my act… Hercules? alas, his bones are yet… With his old earthly labours t’ ex…
Fortune, that favours fools, these… We wish away, both for your sakes… Judging spectators; and desire, in… To the author justice, to ourselve… Our scene is London, 'cause we wo…
I now think Love is rather deaf t… For else it could not be That she, Whom I adore so much, should so s… And cast my love behind.
