I might!—unhappy word—O me, I mig… And then would not, or could not,… Till now wrapt in a most infernal… I find how heav’nly day, wretch!… Heart, rend thyself, thou dost thy…

My Muse may well grudge at my hea… If still I force her in sad rimes… She oft hath drunk my tears, now h… Nectar of mirth, since I Jove’s c… Sonnets be not bound prentice to a…

Hope, art thou true, or dost thou… Doth Stella now begin with piteou… The ruins of her conquest to espy: Will she take time, before all wra… Her eye’s speech is translated thu…

Oh joy, too high for my low style… Oh bliss, fit for a nobler state t… Envy, put out thine eyes, lest tho… What oceans of delight in me do fl… My friend, that oft saw through al…

The Nightingale, as soon as April… Unto her rested sense a perfect wa… While late-bare Earth, proud of n… Sings out her woes, a thorn her so… And mournfully bewailing,

Pardon mine ears, both I and they… So may your tongue still fluently… To them that do such entertainment… So may you still have somewhat new… On silly me do not the burden lay,

Leave me, O Love, which reachest… And thou, my mind, aspire to highe… Grow rich in that which never take… Whatever fades, but fading pleasur… Draw in thy beams, and humble all…

Dian, that fain would cheer her fr… Shows her oft at the full her fair… Bringing with her those starry nym… From heav’nly standing hits each m… But ah, poor Night, in love with…

Envious wits, what hath been mine… That with such poisonous care my l… That to each word, nay sigh of min… As grudging me my sorrow’s eloquen… Ah, is it not enough that I am th…

Having this day my horse, my hand,… Guided so well that I obtain’d th… Both by the judgment of the Engli… And of some sent from that sweet e… Horsemen my skill in horsemanship…

Be your words made, good sir, of… That you allow me them by so small… Or do you cutted Spartans imitate… Or do you mean my tender ears to s… That to my questions you so total…

Clothed with state, and girt with… Monarch-like Jehovah reigns, He who earth’s foundation pight - Pight at first, and yet sustains; He whose stable throne disdains

When Nature made her chief work,… In color black why wrapp’d she bea… Would she in beamy black, like pai… Frame daintiest lustre, mix’d of s… Or did she else that sober hue dev…

Come Sleep! O Sleep, the certain… The baiting-place of wit, the balm… The poor man’s wealth, the prisone… Th’ indifferent judge between the… With shield of proof shield me fro…

What, have I thus betray’d my lib… Can those black beams such burning… Whose neck becomes such yoke of ty… Or want I sense to feel my misery… Or sprite, disdain of such disdain…