#EnglishWriters
In this world, the isle of dreams, While we sit by sorrow’s streams, Tears and terrors are our themes Reciting: But when once from hence we fly,
All things decay with time: The… The growth and down-fall of her ag… That timber tall, which three-scor… The proud dictator of the state-li… I mean the sovereign of all plants…
In numbers, and but these few, I sing thy birth, oh JESU! Thou pretty Baby, born here, With sup’rabundant scorn here; Who for thy princely port here,
Drink wine, and live here blithefu… The morrow’s life too late is; Li…
Clear are her eyes, Like purest skies; Discovering from thence A baby there That turns each sphere,
Come, Sons of Summer, by whose to… We are the lords of wine and oil: By whose tough labours, and rough… We rip up first, then reap our lan… Crown’d with the ears of corn, now…
First, for effusions due unto the… My solemn vows have here accomplis… Next, how I love thee, that my gr… Wherein thou liv’st for ever.—Dea…
Here we securely live, and eat The cream of meat; And keep eternal fires, By which we sit, and do divine, As wine
MONTANO, SILVIO, AND… MON. Bad are the times. SIL.… MON. Troth, bad are both; worse… The feast of shepherds fail. SI… Of wassail now, or sets the quinte…
Music, thou Queen of Heaven, Car… That strik’st a stillness into hel… Thou that tam’st Tygers, and fier… With thy soul-melting Lullabies: Fall down, down, down, from those…
To gather flowers, Sappha went, And homeward she did bring Within her lawny continent, The treasure of the Spring. She smiling blush’d, and blushing…
Dew sate on Julia’s hair, And spangled too, Like leaves that laden are With trembling dew; Or glitter’d to my sight,
Go, pretty child, and bear this fl… Unto thy little Saviour; And tell him, by that bud now blow… He is the Rose of Sharon known. When thou hast said so, stick it t…
Please your Grace, from out your… Give an alms to one that’s poor, That your mickle may have more. Black I’m grown for want of meat, Give me then an ant to eat,
Come, bring with a noise, My merry, merry boys, The Christmas log to the firing, While my good dame, she Bids ye all be free,