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…

I that have been a lover, and coul…   Though not in these, in rhymes n…   Since I exscribe your sonnets,… A better lover, and much better po… Nor is my Muse, or I ashamed to o…

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…

Come, my Celia, let us prove While we may, the sports of love; Time will not be ours forever; He at length our good will sever. Spend not then his gifts in vain.

Here lies, to each her parents’ ru… Mary, the daughter of their youth; Yet all heaven’s gifts being heave… It makes the father less to rue. At six months’ end she parted henc…

How blest art thou, canst love the… Whether by choyce, or fate, or bot… And, though so neere the Citie, a… Art tane with neithers vice, nor s… That at great times, art no ambiti…

Don Surly, to aspire the glorious… Of a great man, and to be thought… Makes serious use of all great tra… He speaks to men with a Rhinocero… Which he thinks great; and so read…

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’…

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…

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.

Farewell, thou child of my right h… My sin was too much hope of thee,… Seven years tho’ wert lent to me,… Exacted by thy fate, on the just d… O, could I lose all father now! F…

This morning, timely rapt with hol… I thought to form unto my zealous… What kind of creature I could mos… To honour, serve, and love; as poe… I meant to make her fair, and free…

Do but consider this small dust Here running in the glass, By atoms moved; Could you believe that this The body was

From 'Cynthia’s Revels’ Queen and huntress, chaste and fai… Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair,

Thou art not, Penshurst, built to… Of touch or marble; nor canst boas… Of polished pillars, or a roof of… Thou hast no lantern, whereof tale… Or stair, or courts; but stand’st…