Man may want land to live in; but… Nature finds out some place for bu…

True mirth resides not in the smil… The sweetest solace is to act no s…

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,

Clear are her eyes, Like purest skies; Discovering from thence A baby there That turns each sphere,

Whither, mad maiden, wilt thou roa… Far safer ’twere to stay at home; Where thou mayst sit, and piping,… The poor and private cottages. Since cotes and hamlets best agree

No fault in women, to refuse The offer which they most would ch… —No fault: in women, to confess How tedious they are in their dres… —No fault in women, to lay on

Praise, they that will, times past… Myself now live; this age best ple…

Twixt truth and error, there’s thi… Error is fruitful, truth is only o…

Happily I had a sight Of my dearest dear last night; Make her this day smile on me, And I’ll roses give to thee!

Ah, my Perilla, dost thou grieve… Me day by day to steal away from t… Age calls me hence, and my grey ha… And haste away to mine eternal hom… ‘Twill not be long, Perilla, afte…

Night hath no wings to him that ca… And Time seems then not for to fl… Slowly her chariot drives, as if t… Had broke her wheel, or crack’d he… Just so it is with me, who list’ni…

Charm me asleep, and melt me so With thy delicious numbers; That being ravish’d, hence I go Away in easy slumbers. Ease my sick head,

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;

Wrinkles no more are, or no less, Than beauty turn’d to sourness.

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,