—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

I have been wanton, and too bold,… To chafe o’er-much the virgin’s ch… Beg for my pardon, Julia! he dot… Grace with the gods who’s sorry fo… That done, my Julia, dearest Juli…

Dread not the shackles; on with th… Good wits get more fame by their p…

How rich and pleasing thou, my Ju… In each thy dainty and peculiar pa… First, for thy Queen-ship on thy… Of flowers a sweet commingled coro… About thy neck a carkanet is bound…

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…

Chorus. What sweeter music can we bring, Than a Carol, for to sing The Birth of this our heavenly Ki… Awake the Voice! Awake the Strin…

Whenas inn silks my Julia goes, Then, then, methinks, how sweetly… That liquefaction of her clothes. Next, when I cast mine eyes and s… That brave vibration each way free…

For brave comportment, wit without… Words fully flowing, yet of influe… Thou art that man of men, the man… Worthy the public admiration: Who with thine own eyes read’st wh…

Wanton wenches do not bring For my hairs black colouring: For my locks, girls, let 'em be Grey or white, all’s one to me.

IN the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess,    Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When I lie within my bed,

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

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;

If ye will with Mab find grace, Set each platter in his place; Rake the fire up, and get Water in, ere sun be set. Wash your pails and cleanse your d…

In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When I lie within my bed,

To the Right Honourable Mildmay,… Come, sons of summer, by whose toi… We are the lords of wine and oil; By whose tough labours, and rough… We rip up first, then reap our lan…