On the happy entrace of Iames, ou… Licet toto nunc Helicone frui. Mart. Heav’n now not strives, alone, our… With joyes: but urgeth his full fa…
Do but consider this small dust Here running in the glass, By atoms moved; Could you believe that this The body was
At court I met it, in clothes bra… To be a courtier, and looks grave… To seem a statesman: as I near it… It made me a great face. I asked… ‘A lord,’ it cried, ‘buried in fle…
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…
It is not growing like a tree in bulk, doth make Man better be; or standing long an oak three hund… to fall a log at last, dry, bald,… A lily of a day
Gut eats all day and lechers all t… So all his meat he tasteth over tw… And, striving so to double his del… He makes himself a thoroughfare of… Thus in his belly can he change a…
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,
Though beauty be the mark of prais… And yours of whom I sing be such As not the world can praise too mu… Yet ’tis your virtue now I raise. A virtue, like allay, so gone
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…
FALSE world, good night! since t… That hour upon my morn of age; Henceforth I quit thee from my th… My part is ended on thy stage. Yes, threaten, do. Alas! I fear
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…
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,
Weep with me, all you that read   This little story; And know for whom a tear you shed,   Death’s self is sorry. 'Twas a child that so did thrive
Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time… Yet slower, yet, O faintly, gentl… List to the heavy part the music b… Woe weeps out her division, when s… Droop herbs and flowers;
Why, Disease, dost thou molest Ladies? and of them the best? Do not men, ynow of rites To thy altars, by their nights Spent in surfets: and their dayes,