#EnglishWriters
In this little Urne is laid Prewdence Baldwin (once my maid) From whose happy spark here let Spring the purple violet.
Clear are her eyes, Like purest skies; Discovering from thence A baby there That turns each sphere,
Love in a shower of blossoms came Down, and half drown’d me with the… The blooms that fell were white an… But with such sweets commingled, As whether (this) I cannot tell,
Good things, that come of course,… Than those which come by sweet con…
Who with a little cannot be conten… Endures an everlasting punishment.
Ah Ben! Say how, or when Shall we thy guests Meet at those lyric feasts Made at the Sun,
O years! and age! farewell: Behold I go, Where I do know Infinity to dwell. And these mine eyes shall see
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…
Come, Anthea, let us two Go to feast, as others do: Tarts and custards, creams and cak… Are the junkets still at wakes; Unto which the tribes resort,
Man is composed here of a twofold… The first of nature, and the next… Art presupposes nature; nature, sh… Prepares the way for man’s docilit…
Here a pretty baby lies Sung asleep with lullabies; Pray be silent, and not stir Th’ easy earth that covers her.
Sadly I walk’d within the field, To see what comfort it would yield… And as I went my private way, An olive-branch before me lay; And seeing it, I made a stay,
These fresh beauties, we can prove… Once were virgins, sick of love, Turn’d to flowers: still in some, Colours go and colours come.
Fame’s pillar here at last we set, Out—during marble, brass or jet; Charmed and enchanted so As to withstand the blow O f o v e r t h r o w ;
Honour to you who sit Near to the well of wit, And drink your fill of it! Glory and worship be To you, sweet Maids, thrice three…