#English
In this little urn is laid Prudence Baldwin, once my maid, From whose happy spark here let Spring the purple violet.
Come, bring with a noise, My merry, merry boys, The Christmas log to the firing, While my good dame, she Bids ye all be free,
I will confess With cheerfulness, Love is a thing so likes me, That, let her lay On me all day,
Blessings in abundance come To the bride and to her groom ; May the bed and this short night Know the fulness of delight! Pleasure many here attend ye,
Come, bring your sampler, and with… Draw in’t a wounded heart, And dropping here and there; Not that I think that any dart Can make your’s bleed a tear,
Farewell thou thing, time past so… To me as blood to life and spirit;… Nay, thou more near than kindred,… Male to the female, soul to body;… To quick action, or the warm soft…
Tell, if thou canst, and truly, wh… This camphire, storax, spikenard,… These musks, these ambers, and tho… Sweet as the Vestry of the Oracle… I’ll tell thee:—while my Julia di…
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…
Gather ye rose-buds 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…
So smooth, so sweet, so silv’ry is… As, could they hear, the Damned w… But listen to thee (walking in thy… melting melodious words to Lutes o…
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…
HAVE ye beheld (with much deligh… A red rose peeping through a white… Or else a cherry, double grac’d, Within a lily centre plac’d? Or ever mark’d the pretty beam
Let fair or foul my mistress be, Or low, or tall, she pleaseth me; Or let her walk, or stand, or sit, The posture her’s, I’m pleased wi… Or let her tongue be still, or sti…
Her pretty feet Like snails did creep A little out, and then, As if they played at Bo-peep, Did soon draw in again.
Here, a little child, I stand, Heaving up my either hand: Cold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to thee, For a benison to fall
