#FreeVerse
The ports of death are sins; of li… Through which our merit leads us t… How wilful blind is he, then, that… And hath it in his powers to make… This world death’s region is, the…
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…
Camden, most reverend head, to who… Â All that I am in arts, all tha… (How nothing’s that!), to whom my… Â The great renown and name where… Than thee the age sees not that th…
Still to be neat, still to be dres… As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfum… Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art’s hid causes are not fo…
A child of Queen Elizabeth’s Cha… Epitaphs: ii WEEP with me, all you that read This little story; And know, for whom a tear you shed
ROOM! room! make room for the bo… First father of sauce and deviser… Prime master of arts and the giver… That found out the excellent engin… The plough and the flail, the mill…
Drinke to me, onely, with thine ey… And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kisse but in the cup, And Ile not looke for wine. The thirst, that from the soule do…
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 s… With his old earthly labours. T’e…
Hear me, O God! A broken heart Is my best part. Use still thy rod, That I may prove
The fairy 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…
Some act of Love’s bound to reherse, I thought to bind him, in my verse… Which when he felt, Away (quoth h…
Rhyme, the rack of finest wits, That expresseth but by fits True conceit, Spoiling senses of their treasure, Cozening judgment with a measure,
if only for ten minutes after the mass feeding of schoolch… after the careful inanity of the s… at low tide this was the place
To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on… Am I thus ample to thy book and f… While I confess thy writings to b… As neither man nor muse can praise… 'Tis true, and all men’s suffrage.…
Ere cherries ripe, and strawberrie… Unto the cries of London I’ll add… Ripe statesmen, ripe: they grow in… At six-and-twenty, ripe. You shal… And have him yield no favour, but…