Love drunk, the other day, knockt… But I, alas! was not within. My man, my ear, told me he came t’… That without cause h’d boxed him, And battered the windows of mine e…

Vnhappy youth, betrayd by Fate To such a love hath sainted hate, And damned those celestiall bands Are onely knit with equal hands; The love of great ones is a love,

This Queen of Prey (now prey to y… Fast to that pirch of ivory In silver chaines and silken clue, Hath now made full thy victory: II.

Tis not from cheap thanks thinly t… Th’ immortal grove of thy fair-ord… Thou planted’st round my humble fa… Stick on thy hearse this sprig of… Nor that your soul so fast was lin…

That frown, Aminta, now hath drow… Thy bright front’s pow’r, and crow… Me that was bound. No, no, deceived cruel, no! Love’s fiery darts,

[THE SONNET. No more Thou little winged archer, now no… As heretofore, Thou maist pretend within my breas…

Cord. Distressed pilgrim, who… Speak thee a martyr to love’s crue… Whither away? Amor. What p… Calls back my flying steps?

Forbear, thou great good husband,… A little respite from thy flood of… Thou, thine own horse and cart und… Thy spacious tent, fan thy prodigi… Down with thy double load of that…

EASTRICH! Thou featherd Fool… That larger sailes to thy broad V… Snakes through thy guttur—neck his… Then on thy I’ron Messe at supper… II

Heark, faire one, how what e’re he… Doth laugh and sing at thy distres… Not out of hate to thy reliefe, But joy t’ enjoy thee, though in g… II.

What means this stately tablature, The ballance of thy streins, Which seems, in stead of sifting p… T’ extend and rack thy veins? Thy Odes first their own harmony…

You, that can haply mixe your joye… And weave white Ios with black El… Can caroll out a dirge, and in one… Sing to the tune either of life, o… You, that can weepe the gladnesse…

AUSONIUS. Vane, quid affectas faciem mihi po… Ignotamque oculis solicitare manu? Aeris et venti sum filia, mater in… Indicii, vocemque sine mente gero.

Heark! Oh heark! you guilty tree… In whose gloomy galleries Was the cruell’st murder done, That e’re yet eclipst the sunne. Be then henceforth in your twigges

Sweet serene skye—like Flower, Haste to adorn her Bower: From thy long clowdy bed, Shoot forth thy damaske head. II.