Stay, Corydon, thou swain, Talk not so soon of dying: What though thy heart be slain, What though thy love be flying? She threatens thee, but dares not…

So light is love, in matchless bea… When she revisits Cypris’ hallow’… Two feeble doves, harness’d in sil… Can draw her chariot 'midst the P… Lightness to love, how ill it fitt…

A silly sylvan, kissing heav’n-bor… Scorched his lips for his so fond… I, not so fond, but gaz’d whilst s… And all my heart straight into fla… The sylvan justly suffer’d for his…

I live, and yet methinks I do not… I thirst, and drink, and drink, an… I sleep, and yet I dream I am awa… I hope for that I have; I have an… I sing and sigh; I love and hate…

Thus saith my Cloris bright, when we of Love sit downe and talk… Beware of Love, deere, Love is a… And Love is this and that, And O I wot not what,

Softly, O! dropp mine eyes, lest… And make my heart with grief to me… Now pour out tears apace, Now stay, O heavy case! O sour sweet woe!

Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face; Nor for any outward part, No, nor for my constant heart: For those may fail or turn to ill,

Where most my thoughts, there leas… Where least I come, there most my… Where most I love, I never show m… From what my mind doth hold, my bo… I careless seem, where most my car…

Thou art but young, thou say’€™st, And love’€™s delight thou weigh’€™… Oh! take time while thou may’€™st, Lest, when thou would’€™st, thou m… If love shall then assail thee,

Sweet honey-sucking bees, why do y… surfeit on roses, pinks and violet… as if the choicest nectar lay in t… wherewith you store your curious c… Ah, make your flight to Melisuavi…

I always beg, yet never am relieve… I grieve, because my griefs are no… I cry aloud in vain, my voice outs… And get but this, mine echo calls…

Of joys and pleasing pains I late… O joys with pains! O pains with j… And little thought as then of now… But now think of my then sweet bit… All day long I my hands, alas! go…

Away, thou shalt not love me. So shall my love seem greater And I shall love the better. Shall it be so? what say you? Why speak you not I pray you?

I love, alas! yet am not loved, For cruel she to pity is not moved… My constant love with scorn she il… Only my sighs a little she regarde… Yet more and more the quenchless f…

All pleasure is of this condition, It pricks men forward to fruition, But if enjoy’d, then like the humm… The honey being shed, away doth fl… But leaves a sting, that wounds th…