In prayer the lips ne’er act the w… Without the sweet concurrence of t…

Tears, though they’re here below t… Above, they are the Angels’ spice…

Men say you’re fair; and fair ye a… But, hark! we praise the painter…

Good morrow to the day so fair; Good morning, sir, to you; Good morrow to mine own torn hair, Bedabbled with the dew. Good morning to this primrose too;

Lord, Thou hast given me a cell Wherein to dwell, A little house, whose humble roof Is weather—proof: Under the spars of which I lie

That hour-glass which there you se… With water fill’d, sirs, credit me… The humour was, as I have read, But lovers’ tears incrystalled. Which, as they drop by drop do pas…

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

Give me a man that is not dull, When all the world with rifts is f… But unamazed dares clearly sing, Whenas the roof’s a-tottering; And though it falls, continues sti…

Pardon my trespass, Silvia! I co… My kiss out-went the bounds of sha… None is discreet at all times; no,… Himself, at one time, can be wise…

Begin to charm, and as thou strok’… With thine enchantment, melt me in… Then let thy active hand scud o’er… And make my spirits frantic with t… That done, sink down into a silver…

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?

The mellow touch of music most dot… The soul, when it doth rather sigh…

Thou bidst me come away, And I’ll no longer stay, Than for to shed some tears For faults of former years; And to repent some crimes

Only a little more I have to write: Then I’ll give o’er, And bid the world good-night. ’Tis but a flying minute,

Ah, Posthumus! our years hence f… And leave no sound: nor piety, Or prayers, or vow Can keep the wrinkle from the brow… But we must on,