#Renaissance
How I do love thee, Beaumont, and… That unto me dost such religion us… How I do fear myself, that am not… The least indulgent thought thy pe… At once thou mak’st me happy, and…
Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth…
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
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…
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…
Rhyme, the rack of finest wits, That expresseth but by fits True conceit, Spoiling senses of their treasure, Cozening judgment with a measure,
Kim, composite of all my loves, less real than most, more real tha… of my making, all the good and some of the bad, yet of yourself; sole, unique, strong, alone,
Pray thee, take care, that tak’st… To read it well: that is, to under…
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…
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.…
The owl is abroad, the bat and the… And so is the cat-a mountain, The ant and the mole sit both in a… And frog peeps out o’the fountain; The dogs they do bay, and the timb…
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…
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…
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…
Come leave the loathéd stage, And the more loathsome age, Where pride and impudence in facti… Usurp the chair of wit, Indicting and arraigning, every da…