#EnglishWriters
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…
Her pretty feet Like snails did creep A little out, and then, As if they played at Bo-peep, Did soon draw in again.
To my revenge, and to her desperat… Fly, thou made bubble of my sighs… In the wild air, when thou hast ro… And, like a blasting planet, found… Stoop, mount, pass by to take her…
Command the roof, great Genius, a… Into this house pour down thy infl… That through each room a golden pi… Of living water by thy benizon; Fulfil the larders, and with stren…
From this bleeding hand of mine, Take this sprig of Eglantine: Which, though sweet unto your smel… Yet the fretful briar will tell, He who plucks the sweets, shall pr…
Ah, my Perilla, dost thou grieve… Me day by day to steal away from t… Age calls me hence, and my grey ha… And haste away to mine eternal hom… ‘Twill not be long, Perilla, afte…
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
Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones; come, and buy: If so be you ask me where They do grow? I answer, there Where my Julia’s lips do smile;—
Life is the body’s light; which, o… Those crimson clouds i’ th’ cheeks… Those counter-changed tabbies in t… The sun once set, all of one colou… So, when death comes, fresh tinctu…
Ask me why I send you here This sweet Infanta of the year? Ask me why I send to you This Primrose, thus bepearl’d wit… I will whisper to your ears,—
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…
In this little Urne is laid Prewdence Baldwin (once my maid) From whose happy spark here let Spring the purple violet.
Play, Phoebus, on thy lute, And we will sit all mute; By listening to thy lyre, That sets all ears on fire. Hark, hark! the God does play!
Come, bring your sampler, and with… Draw in’t a wounded heart, And dropping here and there; Not that I think that any dart Can make your’s bleed a tear,
Biancha, let Me pay the debt I owe thee for a kiss Thou lend’st to me; And I to thee