#Renaissance
I now think Love is rather deaf t… For else it could not be That she, Whom I adore so much, should so s… And cast my love behind.
To the Immortal Memory and Frien… Cary and Sir Henry Morison. THE TURN. Brave infant of Saguntum, clear Thy coming forth in that great yea…
HIGH-SPIRITED friend, I send nor balms nor cor’sives to… Your fate hath found A gentler and more agile hand to t… The cure of that which is but corp…
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…
ROOM! room! make room for the bo… First father of sauce and deviser… Prime master of arts and the giver… That found out the excellent engin… The plough and the flail, the mill…
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…
Here lies, to each her parents’ ru… Mary, the daughter of their youth; Yet all heaven’s gifts being heave… It makes the father less to rue. At six months’ end she parted henc…
Where dost thou careless lie, Buried in ease and sloth? Knowledge that sleeps doth die; And this security, It is the common moth
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…
COURTLING, I rather thou shou… Dispraise my work, than praise it… When I am read, thou feign’st a w… As if thou wert my friend, but lac… This but thy judgment fools: the o…
It will be looked for, book, when… Â Thy title, Epigrams, and named of me, Thou should’st be bold, licentious… Â Wormwood and sulphur, sharp and…
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…
My son finds occupation in almost nothing, in everything: my soapy penitential toothpaste, his mother’s loosened hair orts, containers, useless things;
Do but consider this small dust Here running in the glass, By atoms moved; Could you believe that this The body was
Donne, the delight of Phoebus and… Who, to thy one, all other brains… Whose every work of thy most early… Came forth example, and remains so… Longer a-knowing than most wits do…