#English #XVICentury #XVIICentury
Not all thy flushing suns are set, Herrick, as yet ; Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere Frown and look sullen ev’rywhere. Days may conclude in nights, and s…
Here lies Jonson with the rest Of the poets; but the best. Reader, would’st thou more have kn… Ask his story, not this stone. That will speak what this can’t te…
When words we want, Love teacheth… And what we blush to speak, she bi…
About the sweet bag of a bee Two Cupids fell at odds; And whose the pretty prize should… They vow’d to ask the Gods. Which Venus hearing, thither came…
Wanton wenches do not bring For my hairs black colouring: For my locks, girls, let 'em be Grey or white, all’s one to me.
Her eyes the glow—worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend…
First, for effusions due unto the… My solemn vows have here accomplis… Next, how I love thee, that my gr… Wherein thou liv’st for ever.—Dea…
Life is the body’s light; which, o… Those crimson clouds i’ th’ cheeks… Those counter-changed tabbies in t… The sun once set, all of one colou… So, when death comes, fresh tinctu…
Sea-born goddess, let me be By thy son thus graced, and thee, That whene’er I woo, I find Virgins coy, but not unkind. Let me, when I kiss a maid,
When that day comes, whose evening… Unto that watery desolation; Devoutly to thy Closet-gods then… That my wing’d ship may meet no R… Those deities which circum-walk th…
No news of navies burnt at seas; No noise of late spawn’d tittyries… No closet plot or open vent, That frights men with a Parliamen… No new device or late-found trick,
Whenas in silks my Julia goes, Then, then (methinks) how sweetly… That liquefaction of her clothes. Next, when I cast mine eyes, and… That brave vibration each way free…
In numbers, and but these few, I sing thy birth, oh JESU! Thou pretty Baby, born here, With sup’rabundant scorn here; Who for thy princely port here,
Good morrow to the day so fair; Good morning, sir, to you; Good morrow to mine own torn hair, Bedabbled with the dew. Good morning to this primrose too;
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…
