Though beauty be the mark of prais… And yours of whom I sing be such As not the world can praise too mu… Yet ’tis your virtue now I raise. A virtue, like allay, so gone

I love, and he loves me again, Yet dare I not tell who; For if the nymphs should know my s… I fear they’d love him too; Yet if he be not known,

Follow a shadow, it still flies yo… Seem to fly it, it will pursue: So court a mistress, she denies yo… Let her alone, she will court you. Say, are not women truly then

Come leave the loathéd stage, And the more loathsome age, Where pride and impudence in facti… Usurp the chair of wit, Indicting and arraigning, every da…

He smashed his hand in opening a door for her, and less pain than embarrassment shrieked through him… Concealing both,

Follow a shaddow, it still flies y… Seeme to flye it, it will pursue: So court a mistris, she denies you… Let her alone, she will court you. Say, are not women truly, then,

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;

The Turn Brave infant of Saguntum, clear Thy coming forth in that great yea… When the prodigious Hannibal did… His rage, with razing your immorta…

Kisse mee, Sweet: The wary lover Can your favours keepe, and cover, When the common courting jay All your bounties will betray. Kisse againe: no creature comes.

Where dost thou careless lie, Buried in ease and sloth? Knowledge that sleeps doth die; And this security, It is the common moth

Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time… Yet slower, yet, O faintly, gentl… List to the heavy part the music b… Woe weeps out her division, when s… Droop herbs and flowers;

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…

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

Ere cherries ripe, and strawberrie… Unto the cries of London I’ll add… Ripe statesmen, ripe: they grow in… At six-and-twenty, ripe. You shal… And have him yield no favour, but…

Let it not your wonder move, Less your laughter, that I love. Though I now write fifty years, I have had, and have, my peers. Poets, though divine, are men;