O years! and age! farewell: Behold I go, Where I do know Infinity to dwell. And these mine eyes shall see

So Good-Luck came, and on my roof… Like noiseless snow, or as the dew… Not all at once, but gently,- as t… Are by the sun-beams, tickled by d…

If thou dislik’st the piece thou l… Think that of all that I have wri… But if thou read’st my book unto t… And still dost this and that verse… O perverse man! If all disgustful…

WHAT conscience, say, is it in t…    When I a heart had one, To take away that heart from me,    And to retain thy own? For shame or pity now incline

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…

Wrinkles no more are, or no less, Than beauty turn’d to sourness.

As is your name, so is your comely… Touch’d every where with such diff… As that in all that admirable roun… There is not one least solecism fo… And as that part, so every portion…

We two are last in hell; what may… To be tormented or kept pris’ners… Alas! if kissing be of plagues th… We’ll wish in hell we had been las…

All has been plunder’d from me but… Fortune herself can lay no claim t…

Ponder my words, if so that any be Known guilty here of incivility; Let what is graceless, discomposed… With sweetness, smoothness, softne… Teach it to blush, to curtsey, lis…

—AND, cruel maid, because I see You scornful of my love, and me, I’ll trouble you no more, but go My way, where you shall never know What is become of me; there I

What will ye, my poor orphans, do, When I must leave the world and y… Who’ll give ye then a sheltering s… Or credit ye, when I am dead? Who’ll let ye by their fire sit,

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,

Open thy gates To him who weeping waits, And might come in, But that held back by sin. Let mercy be

’Tis not ev’ry day that I Fitted am to prophesy: No, but when the spirit fills The fantastic pannicles, Full of fire, then I write