Now Whitehall’s in the grave, And our head is our slave, The bright pearl in his close shel… Now the miter is lost, The proud Praelates, too, crost,

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…

THOU snowy Farme with thy five… Tell thy white Mistris here was o… That call’d to pay his dayly Rent… But she agathering Flowr’s and He… And thou left voyd to rude Posses…

Divine Destroyer, pitty me no mor… Or else more pitty me; Give me more love, ah, quickly giv… Or else more cruelty! For left thus as I am,

If Pliny, Lord High Treasurer of… Natures exchequer shuffled in this… Peinture her richer rival did admi… And cry’d she wrought with more al… That judg’d the unnumber’d issue o…

QUINTI CATULI. Constiteram exorientem Auroram fo… Cum subito a laeva Roscius exorit… Pace mihi liceat, coelestes, dicer… Mortalis visu pulchrior esse deo.

AUSONIUS. Vane, quid affectas faciem mihi po… Ignotamque oculis solicitare manu? Aeris et venti sum filia, mater in… Indicii, vocemque sine mente gero.

Mongst the worlds wonders, there d… One greater than the rest, that’s… And her own self beside: A Lady,… Is with vast honours soul and virt… Fair as original light first from…

YEE happy floods! that now must… The sacred conduicts of her Wombe… Smooth, and transparent as your fa… When you are deafe, and windes are… II

See! what an undisturbed teare She weepes for her last sleepe; But, viewing her, straight wak’d a… She weepes that she did weepe. II.

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… O what a glorious transmigration

In mine one monument I lye, And in my self am buried; Sure, the quick lightning of her e… Melted my soul ith’ scabberd dead; And now like some pale ghost I wa…

AH Lucasta, why so Bright! Spread with early streaked light! If still vailed from our sight, What is’t but eternall night? II

MART. EPI. XLIII. LIB. I. Conjugis audisset fatum cum Porti… Et substracta sibi quaereret arma… Nondum scitis, ait, mortem non pos… Credideram satis hoc vos docuisse…

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