#English #XVIICentury
Twas not for some calm blessing to… Thou didst thy polish’d hands in s… It were no blessing thus obtain’d; Thou rather would’st a curse have… Then let thy warm driven snow be e…
Sir, how unravell’d is the golden… Men, that could only fool at FOX… Are new-made polititians by thy bo… And both can judge and conquer wit… The hidden fate of princes you unf…
FOR Cherries plenty, and for Cor… Enough for fifty, were there more… For Elles of Beere Flutes of Can… That well did wash downe pasties—m… For Peason, Chickens, sawces high…
DE CATONE. Invictus victis in partibus omnia… Vincere qui potuit, te, Cato, non… OF CATO. The world orecome, victorious Cae…
I cannot tell, who loves the skele… Of a poor marmoset; nought but boa… Give me a nakednesse, with her clo… II. Such, whose white-sattin upper coa…
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
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…
Behold! three sister-wonders, in w… Distinct and chast, the splendrous… Of Juno, Venus and the warlike M… Each in their three divinities arr… The majesty and state of Heav’ns…
A gentleman, to give us somewhat n… Hath brought up OXFORD with him… Pray be not frighted—Tho the scae… The Universities, the wit’s the t… The lines each honest Englishman…
I SAW a little Diety, Minerva in Epitomy, Whom Venus at first blush, surpri… Tooke for her winged wagge disguis… But viewing then whereas she made
I laugh and sing, but cannot tell Whether the folly on’t sounds well… But then I groan, Methinks, in tune; Whilst grief, despair and fear dan…
UNHAPPY youth betrayd by Fate To such a Love hath Sainted Hate… And damned those Cælestiall bonds Are onely knit with equal hands ; The Love of Great Ones? 'Tis a…
SEE! what a clouded Majesty! a… Whose glory through their mist dot… See! what an humble bravery doth… And griefe triumphant breaking thr… How it commands the face! so swee…
Introth, I do my self perswade, That the wilde boy is grown a man, And all his childishnesse off laid… E’re since Lucasta did his fires… H’ has left his apish jigs,
This is the prittiest motion: Madam, th’ alarums of a drumme That cals your lord, set to your c… To mine are sacred symphonies. What, though ’tis said I have a v…