OUT OF THE ANTHOLOGIE. Daknomenos, lexas ouk eti me blepe… IN AN ENGLISH DISTICK. A fool, much bit by fleas, put out… You shall not see me now (quoth he…

Here, here, oh here! Euridice, Here was she slaine ; Her soule 'still’d through a veine… The Gods knew lesse That time Divinitie,

You, that can haply mixe your joye… And weave white Ios with black El… Can caroll out a dirge, and in one… Sing to the tune either of life, o… You, that can weepe the gladnesse…

See! what a clouded majesty, and e… Whose glory through their mist dot… See! what an humble bravery doth s… And griefe triumphant breaking thr… How it commands the face! so sweet…

SEE! with what constant Motion Even, and glorious, as the Sunne, Gratiana steeres that Noble Frame… Soft as her breast, sweet as her v… That gave each winding Law and po…

SANAZARI HEXASTICON. Viderat Adriacis quondam Neptunus… Stare urbem et toto ponere Jura m… Nunc mihi Tarpeias quantumvis, Ju… Objice et illa mihi moenia Martis…

Chloe, behold! againe I bowe: Againe possest, againe I woe; From my heat hath taken fire Damas, noble youth, and fries, Gazing with one of mine eyes,

“Come, pretty birds, present your… And learn to chaunt a goddess prai… Ye wood-nymphs, let your voices be Employ’d to serve her deity: And warble forth, ye virgins nine,

You, that can aptly mixe your joye… And weave white Iös with black El… Can Caroll out a Dirge, and in on… Sing to the Tune, either of life,… You, that can weepe the gladnesse…

Eastrich! thou featherd foole, and… That larger sailes to thy broad ve… Snakes through thy guttur-neck his… Then on thy iron messe at supper f… II.

THEOPHILE BEING DENY… TURNED THE AFFRONT T… Si Jaques, le Roy du scavior, Ne trouue bon de me voir, Voila la cause infallible!

Sweet serene skye-like Flower, Haste to adorn her Bower: From thy long clowdy bed, Shoot forth thy damaske head. II.

Amarantha sweet and faire, Ah brade no more that shining hair… As my curious hand or eye, Hovering round thee, let it flye. II.

What, so beyond all madnesse is th… Now he hath got out of himself! His fatal enemy the Bee, Nor his deceiv’d artillerie, His shackles, nor the roses bough

Amyntor. Alexis! ah Alexis! can it be, Though so much wet and drie Doth drowne our eye, Thou keep’st thy winged voice from…