1 Among thy fancies, tell me this… What is the thing we call a kiss? 2 I shall resolve ye what it is:— It is a creature born and bred Between the lips, all cherry-red,

Ah, Posthumus! our years hence f… And leave no sound: nor piety, Or prayers, or vow Can keep the wrinkle from the brow… But we must on,

In this little Urne is laid Prewdence Baldwin (once my maid) From whose happy spark here let Spring the purple violet.

Open thy gates To him who weeping waits, And might come in, But that held back by sin. Let mercy be

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,

What can I do in poetry, Now the good spirit’s gone from me… Why, nothing now but lonely sit And over-read what I have writ.

Why I tie about thy wrist, Julia, this my silken twist? For what other reason is’t, But to shew thee how in part Thou my pretty captive art?

Ponder my words, if so that any be Known guilty here of incivility; Let what is graceless, discomposed… With sweetness, smoothness, softne… Teach it to blush, to curtsey, lis…

Thou see’st me, Lucia, this year… Three zodiacs fill’d more, I shal… Let crutches then provided be To shore up my debility: Then, while thou laugh’st, I’ll s…

Ah, my Perilla, dost thou grieve… Me day by day to steal away from t… Age calls me hence, and my grey ha… And haste away to mine eternal hom… ‘Twill not be long, Perilla, afte…

Twixt truth and error, there’s thi… Error is fruitful, truth is only o…

Make haste away, and let one be A friendly patron unto thee; Lest, rapt from hence, I see thee… Torn for the use of pastery; Or see thy injured leaves serve we…

No man such rare parts hath, that… If favour or occasion help not him…

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