#English #XVICentury #XVIICentury
HERE a pretty baby lies Sung asleep with lullabies: Pray be silent and not stir Th’ easy earth that covers her.
Come, sit we under yonder tree, Where merry as the maids we’ll be; And as on primroses we sit, We’ll venture, if we can, at wit; If not, at draw-gloves we will pla…
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…
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…
That hour-glass which there you se… With water fill’d, sirs, credit me… The humour was, as I have read, But lovers’ tears incrystalled. Which, as they drop by drop do pas…
In sober mornings do thou not rehe… The holy incantation of a verse; But when that men have both well d… Let my enchantments then be sung,… When laurel spurts i’ th’ fire, an…
Can I not sin, but thou wilt be My private protonotary? Can I not woo thee to pass by A short and sweet iniquity? I’ll cast a mist and cloud upon
Music, thou queen of heaven, care-… That strik’st a stillness into hel… Thou that tam’st tigers, and fierc… With thy soul-melting lullabies; Fall down, down, down, from those…
When I consider, dearest, thou do… But here awhile, to languish and d… Like to these garden glories, whic… The flowery-sweet resemblances of… With grief of heart, methinks, I…
Begin to charm, and as thou strok’… With thine enchantment, melt me in… Then let thy active hand scud o’er… And make my spirits frantic with t… That done, sink down into a silver…
Now is the time for mirth, Nor cheek or tongue be dumb; For with the flow’ry earth The golden pomp is come. The golden pomp is come;
HERE, Here I live with what my… Can with the smallest cost afford; Though ne’er so mean the viands be… They well content my Prue and me: Or pea or bean, or wort or beet,
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…
Ah, my Perilla! dost thou grieve… Me, day by day, to steal away from… Age calls me hence, and my gray ha… And haste away to mine eternal hom… ‘Twill not be long, Perilla, afte…
Here a little child I stand Heaving up my either hand; Cold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to Thee, For a benison to fall
