#English #XVICentury #XVIICentury
Ask me why I send you here This sweet Infanta of the year? Ask me why I send to you This Primrose, thus bepearl’d wit… I will whisper to your ears,—
Have ye beheld (with much delight) A red rose peeping through a white… Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam
Biancha, let Me pay the debt I owe thee for a kiss Thou lend’st to me; And I to thee
I call, I call: who do ye call? The maids to catch this cowslip ba… But since these cowslips fading be… Troth, leave the flowers, and maid… Yet, if that neither you will do,
TO PHILLIS, TO LOVE A… Live, live with me, and thou shalt… The pleasures I’ll prepare for th… What sweets the country can afford Shall bless thy bed, and bless thy…
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles t… To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the s…
Fled are the frosts, and now the f… Reclothed in fresh and verdant dia… Thaw’d are the snows; and now the… Gives to each mead a neat enamelli… The palms put forth their gems, an…
Dull to myself, and almost dead to… My many fresh and fragrant mistres… Lost to all music now, since every… Puts on the semblance here of sorr… Sick is the land to th’ heart, and…
Display thy breasts, my Julia, th… Behold that circummortal purity; Between whose glories, there my li… Ravished in that fair Via Lactea.
Life of my life, take not so soon… But stay the time till we have bad… Thou hast both wind and tide with… As soon dispatch’d is by the night… Let us not then so rudely hencefor…
At draw-gloves we’ll play, And prithee let’s lay A wager, and let it be this: Who first to the sum Of twenty shall come,
Love’s of itself too sweet; the be… Is, when love’s honey has a dash o…
Here a solemn fast we keep, While all beauty lies asleep; Hush’d be all things, no noise her… But the toning of a tear; Or a sigh of such as bring
Laid out for dead, let thy last ki… With leaves and moss-work for to c… And while the wood-nymphs my cold… Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling… For epitaph, in foliage, next writ…
From noise of scare-fires rest ye… From murders Benedicite. From all mischances that may frigh… Your pleasing slumbers in the nigh… Mercy secure ye all, and keep
