Give me a cell To dwell, Where no foot hath A path; There will I spend,

Immortal clothing I put on So soon as, Julia, I am gone To mine eternal mansion. Thou, thou art here, to human sigh… Clothed all with incorrupted light…

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…

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,

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,

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,

Thou shalt not all die; for while… Upon his altar, men shall read thy… And learn’d musicians shall, to ho… Fame, and his name, both set and s… To his book’s end this last line h…

Let fair or foul my mistress be, Or low, or tall, she pleaseth me; Or let her walk, or stand, or sit, The posture her’s, I’m pleased wi… Or let her tongue be still, or sti…

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,

From the dull confines of the droo… To see the day spring from the pre… Ravish’d in spirit, I come, nay m… To thee, blest place of my nativit… Thus, thus with hallow’d foot I t…

Man is a watch, wound up at first,… Wound up again; Once down, he’s d… The watch once down, all motions t… The man’s pulse stopt, all passion…

Whatsoever thing I see, Rich or poor although it be, —'Tis a mistress unto me. Be my girl or fair or brown, Does she smile, or does she frown;

Three lovely sisters working were, As they were closely set, Of soft and dainty maiden-hair, A curious Armilet. I, smiling, ask’d them what they d…

If thou dislik’st the piece thou l… Think that of all that I have wri… But if thou read’st my book unto t… And still dost this and that verse… O perverse man! If all disgustful…

Why I tie about thy wrist, Julia, this my silken twist? For what other reason is’t, But to shew thee how in part Thou my pretty captive art?