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;

Ah, Posthumus! our years hence f… And leave no sound: nor piety, Or prayers, or vow Can keep the wrinkle from the brow… But we must on,

Born I was to be old, And for to die here; After that, in the mould Long for to lie here. But before that day comes,

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,

How Love came in, I do not know, Whether by th’ eye, or eare, or no… Or whether with the soule it came (At first) infused with the same: Whether in part ‘tis here or there…

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…

Why dost thou wound and break my h… As if we should for ever part? Hast thou not heard an oath from m… After a day, or two, or three, I would come back and live with th…

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…

Love’s of itself too sweet; the be… Is, when love’s honey has a dash o…

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here a-while, To blush and gently smile;

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…

How rich and pleasing thou, my Ju… In each thy dainty and peculiar pa… First, for thy Queen-ship on thy… Of flowers a sweet commingled coro… About thy neck a carkanet is bound…

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,—

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,

Dread not the shackles; on with th… Good wits get more fame by their p…