#EnglishWriters
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…
In sober mornings do thou not rehe… The holy incantation of a verse; But when that men have both well d… Let my enchantments then be sung,… When laurel spurts i’ th’ fire, an…
Some ask’d me where the Rubies gr… And nothing I did say, But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia. Some ask’d how Pearls did grow, a…
Tears, though they’re here below t… Above, they are the Angels’ spice…
SWEET western wind, whose luck i… Made rival with the air, To give Perenna’s lip a kiss, And fan her wanton hair: Bring me but one, I’ll promise th…
First offer incense; then, thy fie… Shall smile and smell the better b… The spangling dew dredged o’er the… Turn’d all to mell and manna there… Butter of amber, cream, and wine,…
Julia, if I chance to die Ere I print my poetry, I most humbly thee desire To commit it to the fire: Better ’twere my book were dead,
Down with the rosemary and bays, Down with the misletoe; Instead of holly, now up-raise The greener box, for show. The holly hitherto did sway;
Welcome, maids of honour, You do bring In the Spring; And wait upon her. She has virgins many,
A funeral stone Or verse, I covet none; But only crave Of you that I may have A sacred laurel springing from my…
Why I tie about thy wrist, Julia, this my silken twist? For what other reason is’t, But to shew thee how in part Thou my pretty captive art?
Beauty no other thing is, than a b… Flash’d out between the middle and…
Come pity us, all ye who see Our harps hung on the willow-tree; Come pity us, ye passers-by, Who see or hear poor widows’ cry; Come pity us, and bring your ears
O earth! earth! earth! hear tho… Loving and gentle for to cover me! Banish’d from thee I live;—ne’er… Unless thou giv’st my small remain…
See’st thou that cloud as silver c… Plump, soft, and swelling every wh… ’Tis Julia’s bed, and she sleeps…