If little labour, little are our g… Man’s fortunes are according to hi…

Ah, my Perilla! dost thou grieve… Me, day by day, to steal away from… Age calls me hence, and my gray ha… And haste away to mine eternal hom… ‘Twill not be long, Perilla, afte…

Why do ye weep, sweet babes? can… Speak grief in you, Who were but born just as the modest morn Teem’d her refreshing dew?

Till I shall come again, let this… I send my salt, my sacrifice To thee, thy lady, younglings, and… As to thy Genius and thy Lar; To the worn threshold, porch, hall…

Why, Madam, will ye longer weep, Whenas your baby’s lull’d asleep? And, pretty child, feels now no mo… Those pains it lately felt before. All now is silent; groans are fled…

If after rude and boisterous seas My wearied pinnace here finds ease… If so it be I’ve gain’d the shore… With safety of a faithful oar; If having run my barque on ground,

From noise of scare-fires rest ye… From murders, Benedicite; From all mischances that may frigh… Your pleasing slumbers in the nigh… Mercy secure ye all, and keep

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,

No man such rare parts hath, that… If favour or occasion help not him…

You have beheld a smiling rose When virgins’ hands have drawn O’er it a cobweb-lawn: And here, you see, this lily shows… Tomb’d in a crystal stone,

When I thy parts run o’er, I can’… In any one, the least indecency; But every line and limb diffused t… A fair and unfamiliar excellence; So that the more I look, the more…

Thou shalt not all die; for while… Upon his altar, men shall read thy… And learn’d musicians shall, to ho… Fame, and his name, both set and s… To his book’s end this last line h…

Charm me asleep, and melt me so With thy delicious numbers; That being ravish’d, hence I go Away in easy slumbers. Ease my sick head,

You say you’re sweet: how should… Whether that you be sweet or no? —From powders and perfumes keep fr… Then we shall smell how sweet you…

Ah Ben! Say how or when Shall we, thy guests, Meet at those lyric feasts, Made at the Sun,