#RhymedStanza
I sing the birth was born to-night The author both of life and light; The angels so did sound it. And like the ravished shepherds sa… Who saw the light, and were afraid…
Fortune, that favours fools, these… We wish away, both for your sakes… Judging spectators; and desire, in… To the author justice, to ourselve… Our scene is London, 'cause we wo…
The owl is abroad, the bat, and th… And so is the cat-a-mountain, The ant and the mole sit both in a… And the frog peeps out o’ the foun… The dogs they do bay, and the timb…
Lucy, you brightness of our sphere… Life of the Muses’ day, their mor… If works, not th’ author’s, their… Whose poems would not wish to be y… But these, desir’d by you, the mak…
Kim, composite of all my loves, less real than most, more real tha… of my making, all the good and some of the bad, yet of yourself; sole, unique, strong, alone,
I that have been a lover, and coul… Though not in these, in rhymes n… Since I exscribe your sonnets,… A better lover, and much better po… Nor is my Muse, or I ashamed to o…
Not to know vice at all, and keep… Is virtue and not fate: Next to that virtue, is to know vi… And her black spite expel. Which to effect (since no breast i…
My son finds occupation in almost nothing, in everything: my soapy penitential toothpaste, his mother’s loosened hair orts, containers, useless things;
Don Surly, to aspire the glorious… Of a great man, and to be thought… Makes serious use of all great tra… He speaks to men with a Rhinocero… Which he thinks great; and so read…
Not to know vice at all, and keepe… Is vertue, and not Fate: Next, to that vertue, is to know v… And her black spight expell. Which to effect (since no brest is…
If I freely can discover What would please me in my lover, I would have her fair and witty, Savouring more of court than city; A little proud, but full of pity;
Why do we lie 'Why do we lie,' she questione… on the grey Autumn wind and its co… 'all afternoon wasted in bed lik… 'Because we cannot lie all night…
Still to be neat, still to be dres… As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfum… Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art’s hid causes are not fo…
It is not growing like a tree in bulk, doth make Man better be; or standing long an oak three hund… to fall a log at last, dry, bald,… A lily of a day
Thou art not, Penshurst, built to… Of touch or marble; nor canst boas… Of polished pillars, or a roof of… Thou hast no lantern, whereof tale… Or stair, or courts; but stand’st…