As good to write as for to lie and… Oh Stella dear, how much thy powe… That hast my mind, none of the bas… My still-kept course, while others… Alas, if from the height of Virtu…

You that do search for every purli… Which from the ribs of old Parnas… And every flower, not sweet perhap… Near thereabouts, into your poesy… Ye that do dictionary’s method bri…

Oh joy, too high for my low style… Oh bliss, fit for a nobler state t… Envy, put out thine eyes, lest tho… What oceans of delight in me do fl… My friend, that oft saw through al…

Soul’s joy, bend not those morning… Where Virtue is made strong by Be… Where Love is chasteness, Pain do… And Humbleness grows one with Maj… Whatever may ensue, oh let me be

Stella, the fullness of my thought… Cannot be stay’d within my panting… But they do swell and struggle for… Till that in words thy figure be e… And yet as soon as they so formed…

I never drank of Aganippe well, Nor ever did in shade of Tempe si… And Muses scorn with vulgar brain… Poor layman I, for sacred rites u… Some do I hear of poets’ fury tel…

Pardon mine ears, both I and they… So may your tongue still fluently… To them that do such entertainment… So may you still have somewhat new… On silly me do not the burden lay,

Fly, fly, my friends, I have my d… See there that boy, that murtherin… Who like a thief, hid in dark bush… Till bloody bullet get him wrongfu… So tyrant he no fitter place could…

Yet Sighs, dear Sighs, indeed tru… That do not leave your least frien… But as you with my breast I oft h… So grateful now you wait upon my c… Faint coward Joy no longer tarry…

With what sharp checks I in mysel… When into Reason’s audit I do go: And by just counts myself a bankru… Of all the goods, which heav’n to… Unable quite to pay even Nature’s…

Queen Virtue’s court, which some… Prepar’d by Nature’s choicest fur… Hath his front built of alabaster… Gold in the covering of that state… The door by which sometimes comes…

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…

His mother dear Cupid offended la… Because that Mars grown slacker i… With pricking shot he did not thro… To keep the pace of their first lo… The boy refus’d for fear of Mars’…

I might!—unhappy word—O me, I mig… And then would not, or could not,… Till now wrapt in a most infernal… I find how heav’nly day, wretch!… Heart, rend thyself, thou dost thy…

Be your words made, good sir, of… That you allow me them by so small… Or do you cutted Spartans imitate… Or do you mean my tender ears to s… That to my questions you so total…