No more, my dear, no more these co… Oh, give my passions leave to run… Let Fortune lay on me her worst d… Let folk o’ercharg’d with brain ag… Let clouds bedim my face, break in…

Oh grammar rules, oh now your virt… So children still read you with aw… As my young dove may in your prece… Her grant to me, by her own virtue… For late, with heart most high, wi…

And do I see some cause a hope to… Or doth the tedious burden of long… In weaken’d minds, quick apprehens… Of every image which may comfort s… I cannot brag of word, much less o…

Of all the kings that ever here di… Edward nam’d Fourth, as first in… Not for his fair outside, nor well… Although less gifts imp feathers o… Nor that he could young-wise, wise…

Strephon. You Gote-heard Gods, that loue th… You Nimphes that haunt the spring… You Satyrs ioyde with free and qu… Vouchsafe your silent eares to pla…

Stella is sick, and in that sickbe… Sweetness, which breathes and pant… And Grace, sick too, such fine co… That Sickness brags itself best g… Beauty is sick, but sick in so fai…

Dian, that fain would cheer her fr… Shows her oft at the full her fair… Bringing with her those starry nym… From heav’nly standing hits each m… But ah, poor Night, in love with…

Reason, in faith thou art well ser… Wouldst brabbling be with sense an… I rather wish’d thee climb the Mu… Or reach the fruit of Nature’s ch… Or seek heav’n’s course, or heav’n…

Stella oft sees the very face of w… Painted in my beclouded stormy fac… But cannot skill to pity my disgra… Not though thereof the cause herse… Yet hearing late a fable, which di…

Now that of absence the most irkso… With darkest shade doth overcome m… Since Stella’s eyes, wont to give… Leaving my hemisphere, leave me in… Each day seems long, and longs for…

Oh tears, no tears, but rain from… Making those lilies and those rose… Which aye most fair, now more than… While graceful Pity Beauty beauti… Oh honeyed sighs, which from that…

The wisest scholar of the wight mo… By Phoebus’ doom, with sugar’d se… That Virtue, if it once met with… Strange flames of love it in our s… But for that man with pain his tru…

Come, let me write. ‘And to what… A burthen’d heart. ‘How can words… The glasses of thy daily vexing ca… Oft cruel fights well pictur’d for… ‘Art not asham’d to publish thy di…

Doubt you to whom my Muse these n… Which now my breast o’ercharged to… To you, to you, all song of praise… Only in you my song begins and end… Who hath the eyes which marry stat…

The heavenly frame sets forth the… Of him that only thunders; The firmament, so strangely bent, Shows his handworking wonders. Day unto day doth it display,