#Renaissance
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…
Would you believe, when you this m… That his whole body should speak… That so much scarf of France, and… And shoe, and tie, and garter shou… And land on one whose face durst n…
Descended to the shore, odd how we… the young girl with us to herself,… straight to examine the stratified… forgot her entirely in our interes… You marvelled at the shapes the cl…
Epitaphs i WOULDST thou hear what Man can… In a little? Reader, stay. Underneath this stone doth lie As much Beauty as could die:
RIDWAY robb’d DUNCOTE of thr… Ridway was ta’en, arraign’d, conde… But, for this money, was a courtie… Begg’d Ridway’s pardon: Duncote n… Robb’d both of money, and the law’…
Why Gentlemen, doe you know what… Would you ha’kept me out? Christm… Christmas of London, and Captaine… Pray you let me be brought before… 'Tis merrie in hall when beards wa…
Good and great God, can I not thi… But it must straight my melancholy… Is it interpreted in me disease That, laden with my sins, I seek… Oh be thou witness, that the reins…
Poor POET-APE, that would be t… Whose works are e’en the frippery… From brokage is become so bold a t… As we, the robbed, leave rage, and… At first he made low shifts, would…
So breaks the sun earth’s rugged c… Wherein rude winter bound her vein… So grows both stream and source of… That lately fettered were with ice… So naked trees get crisped heads,
See the chariot at hand here of L… Wherein my lady rideth! Each that draws is a swan or a dov… And well the car Love guideth. As she goes, all hearts do duty
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.
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…
Some act of Love’s bound to reherse, I thought to bind him, in my verse… Which when he felt, Away (quoth h…
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,
Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love; Time will not be ours forever; He at length our good will sever. Spend not then his gifts in vain.
