Want is a softer wax, that takes t… This, that, and every base impress…

To gather flowers, Sappha went, And homeward she did bring Within her lawny continent, The treasure of the Spring. She smiling blush’d, and blushing…

IN the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess,    Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When I lie within my bed,

SWEET western wind, whose luck i…    Made rival with the air, To give Perenna’s lip a kiss,    And fan her wanton hair: Bring me but one, I’ll promise th…

Why I tie about thy wrist, Julia, this silken twist; For what other reason ’tis But to show thee how, in part, Thou my pretty captive art?

What conscience, say, is it in the… When I a heart had one, [won] To take away that heart from me, And to retain thy own? For shame or pity, now incline

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness: A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction— An erring lace, which here and the…

Anthea laugh’d, and, fearing lest… Might stretch the cords of civil c… She with a dainty blush rebuked he… And call’d each line back to his r…

Bell-man of night, if I about sha… For to deny my Master, do thou cr… Thou stop’st Saint Peter in the m… Stay me, by crowing, ere I do beg… Better it is, premonish’d, for to…

Here she lies, in bed of spice, Fair as Eve in paradise; For her beauty, it was such, Poets could not praise too much. Virgins come, and in a ring

Scobble for whoredom whips his wif… He’ll slit her nose; but blubberin… “Good sir, make no more cuts i’ th… One slit’s enough to let adultery…

My dearest Love, since thou wilt… And leave me here behind thee; For love or pity, let me know The place where I may find thee. AMARIL. In country meadows, pe…

Since shed or cottage I have none… I sing the more, that thou hast on… To whose glad threshold, and free… I may a Poet come, though poor; And eat with thee a savoury bit,

Happily I had a sight Of my dearest dear last night; Make her this day smile on me, And I’ll roses give to thee!

What will ye, my poor orphans, do, When I must leave the world and y… Who’ll give ye then a sheltering s… Or credit ye, when I am dead? Who’ll let ye by their fire sit,