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 ther…

Is this a life, to break thy sleep… To rise as soon as day doth peep? To tire thy patient ox or ass By noon, and let thy good days pas… Not knowing this, that Jove decre…

One silent night of late, When every creature rested, Came one unto my gate, And knocking, me molested. Who’s that, said I, beats there,

More discontents I never had Since I was born, than here; Where I have been, and still am,… In this dull Devonshire. Yet justly too I must confess,

Stay while ye will, or go, And leave no scent behind ye: Yet trust me, I shall know The place where I may find ye. Within my Lucia’s cheek,

Get up, get up for shame, the Blo… Upon her wings presents the god un… See how Aurora throwes her faire Fresh—quilted colours through the… Get up, sweet—Slug—a—bed, and see

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…

THE APPARITION OF HIS… CALLING HIM TO ELYSIUM DESUNT NONNULLA— Come then, and like two doves with… Let our souls fly to th’ shades, w…

Though frankincense the deities re… We must not give all to the hallow… Such be our gifts, and such be our… As for ourselves to leave some fra…

I have been wanton, and too bold,… To chafe o’er-much the virgin’s ch… Beg for my pardon, Julia! he dot… Grace with the gods who’s sorry fo… That done, my Julia, dearest Juli…

Love, like a gipsy, lately came, And did me much importune To see my hand, that by the same He might foretell my fortune. He saw my palm; and then, said he,

Here a solemn fast we keep, While all beauty lies asleep; Hush’d be all things, no noise her… But the toning of a tear; Or a sigh of such as bring

I bring ye love. QUES. What wi… ANS. Like, and dislike ye. I bring ye love. QUES. What wi… ANS. Stroke ye, to strike ye. I bring ye love. QUES. What wi…

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;

Ye have been fresh and green, Ye have been fill’d with flowers; And ye the walks have been Where maids have spent their hours… You have beheld how they