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,

Come, bring with a noise, My merry, merry boys, The Christmas log to the firing, While my good dame, she Bids ye all be free,

Let’s now take our time, While we’re in our prime, And old, old age is afar off; For the evil, evil days Will come on apace,

Reach with your whiter hands to me Some crystal of the spring; And I about the cup shall see Fresh lilies flourishing. Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but…

You see this grntle stream that gl… Shoved on, by quick-succeeding tid… Try if this sober stream you can Follow to th’ wider ocean, And see, if there it keeps unspent

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,

Let us, though late, at last, my… And loving lie in one devoted bed. Thy watch may stand, my minutes fl… No sound calls back the year that… Then, sweetest Silvia, let’s no l…

Droop, droop no more, or hang the… Ye roses almost withered; Now strength, and newer purple get… Each here declining violet. O primroses! let this day be

Here we securely live, and eat The cream of meat; And keep eternal fires, By which we sit, and do divine, As wine

When with the virgin morning thou… Crossing thyself come thus to sacr… First wash thy heart in innocence;… Pure hands, pure habits, pure, pur… Next to the altar humbly kneel, an…

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…

In this world, the Isle of Dreams… While we sit by sorrow’s streams, Tears and terrors are our themes, Reciting: But when once from hence we fly,

Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones; come, and buy: If so be you ask me where They do grow? I answer, there Where my Julia’s lips do smile;—

Sapho, I will chuse to go Where the northern winds do blow Endless ice, and endless snow; Rather than I once would see But a winter’s face in thee,—

BE those few hours, which I have… Blest with the meditation of my en… Though they be few in number, I’m… If otherwise, I stand indifferent… Nor makes it matter, Nestor’s yea…