I had eight birds hatcht in one ne… Four Cocks were there, and Hens t… I nurst them up with pain and care… No cost nor labour did I spare Till at the last they felt their w…

Sometime now past in the Autumnal… When Phoebus wanted but one hour… The trees all richly clad, yet voi… Were gilded o’re by his rich golde… Their leaves and fruits seem’d pai…

All Praise to him who hath now tu… My feares to Joyes, my sighes to… My Teares to smiles, my sad to gl… He’s come for whom I waited long. Thou di’st preserve him as he went…

Proem. Although great Queen, thou now in… Yet thy loud Herald Fame, doth to… Thy wondrous worth proclaim, in ev… And so has vow’d, whilst there is…

Ah me! conceiv’d in sin, and born… A nothing, here to day, but gone t… Whose mean beginning, blushing can… But night and darkness must with s… My mother’s breeding sickness, I…

Here lies A worthy matron of unspotted life, A loving mother and obedient wife, A friendly neighbor, pitiful to po… Whom oft she fed, and clothed with…

When Sorrowes had begyrt me rovnd… And Paines within and out, When in my flesh no part was sovnd… Then didst thou rid me out. My burning flesh in sweat did boyl…

In secret place where once I stoo… Close by the Banks of Lacrim floo… I heard two sisters reason on Things that are past and things to… One Flesh was call’d, who had her…

My head, my heart, mine Eyes, my… My joy, my Magazine of earthly st… If two be one, as surely thou and… How stayest thou there, whilst I… So many steps, head from the heart…

O Lord, Thou hear’st my daily moa… And see’st my dropping tears. My troubles all are Thee before, My longings and my fears. Thou hitherto hast been my God;

Worthy art Thou, O Lord, of prai… But ah! It’s not in me. My sinking heart I pray Thee rais… So shall I give it Thee. My life as spider’s webb’s cut off…

In silent night when rest I took For sorrow near I did not look I waked was with thund’ring noise And piteous shrieks of dreadful vo… That fearful sound of “Fire!” and…

To sing of Wars, of Captains, and… Of Cities founded, Common—wealths… For my mean Pen are too superior… Or how they all, or each their dat… Let Poets and Historians set thes…

As weary pilgrim, now at rest, Hugs with delight his silent nest His wasted limbes, now lye full so… That myrie steps, haue troden oft Blesses himself, to think vpon