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

Why do ye weep, sweet babes? can… Speak grief in you, Who were but born just as the modest morn Teem’d her refreshing dew?

From this bleeding hand of mine, Take this sprig of Eglantine: Which, though sweet unto your smel… Yet the fretful briar will tell, He who plucks the sweets, shall pr…

When I thy parts run o’er, I can’… In any one, the least indecency; But every line and limb diffused t… A fair and unfamiliar excellence; So that the more I look, the more…

Play, Phoebus, on thy lute, And we will sit all mute; By listening to thy lyre, That sets all ears on fire. Hark, hark! the God does play!

Shut not so soon; the dull-eyed ni… Has not as yet begun To make a seizure on the light, Or to seal up the sun. No marigolds yet closed are,

Till I shall come again, let this… I send my salt, my sacrifice To thee, thy lady, younglings, and… As to thy Genius and thy Lar; To the worn threshold, porch, hall…

Born I was to be old, And for to die here; After that, in the mould Long for to lie here. But before that day comes,

Display thy breasts, my Julia, th… Behold that circummortal purity; Between whose glories, there my li… Ravished in that fair Via Lactea.

When I love, as some have told Love I shall, when I am old, O ye Graces! make me fit For the welcoming of it! Clean my rooms, as temples be,

Get up, get up for shame, the bloo… Upon her wings presents the god un… See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted colours through the… Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see

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…

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…

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…

Fly to my mistress, pretty pilferi… And say thou bring’st this honey-b… When on her lip thou hast thy swee… Mark if her tongue but slyly steal… If so, we live; if not, with mourn…