#EnglishWriters
I long to talk with some old lover… Who died before the god of love wa… I cannot think that he, who then l… Sunk so low as to love one which d… But since this god produc’d a dest…
Mark but this flea, and mark in th… How little that which thou deniest… Me it sucked first, and now sucks… And in this flea our two bloods mi… Thou know’st that this cannot be s…
When that rich soul which to her h… Whom all do celebrate, who know th… (For who is sure he hath a soul, u… It see, and judge, and follow wort… And by deeds praise it? He who do…
If yet I have not all thy love, Dear, I shall never have it all; I cannot breathe one other sigh, t… Nor can intreat one other tear to… And all my treasure, which should…
Whoever comes to shroud me, do not… Nor question much That subtle wreath of hair, which… The mystery, the sign, you must no… For 'tis my outward soul,
Let me pour forth My tears before thy face, whilst… For thy face coins them, and thy s… And by this mintage they are somet… For thus they be
Out of a fired ship, which by no w… But drowning could be rescued from… Some men leap’d forth, and ever as… Near the foes’ ships, did by their… So all were lost, which in the shi…
This is my play’s last scene; here… My pilgrimage’s last mile; and my… Idly, yet quickly run, hath this l… My span’s last inch, my minute’s l… And gluttonous death will instantl…
I scarce believe my love to be so… As I had thought it was, Because it doth endure Vicissitude, and season, as the gr… Methinks I lied all winter, when…
I am unable, yonder beggar cries, To stand, or move; if he say true,…
I’ll tell thee now (dear Love) wh… To anger destiny, as she doth us, How I shall stay, though she eslo… And how posterity shall know it to… How thine may out-endure
When my grave is broke up again Some second guest to entertain, (For graves have learn’d that woma… To be to more than one a bed) And he that digs it, spies
Let mans Soule be a Spheare, and… The intelligence that moves, devot… And as the other Spheares, by bei… Subject to forraigne motion, lose… And being by others hurried every…
Kind pity chokes my spleen; brave… Those tears to issue which swell m… I must not laugh, nor weep sins an… Can railing, then, cure these worn… Is not our mistress, fair Religio…
SEND home my long stray’d eyes t… Which, O! too long have dwelt on… Yet since there they have learn’d… Such forced fashions, And false passions,
