#Couplet
Kisse mee, Sweet: The wary lover Can your favours keepe, and cover, When the common courting jay All your bounties will betray. Kisse againe: no creature comes.
Lucy, you brightness of our sphere… Life of the Muses’ day, their mor… If works, not th’ author’s, their… Whose poems would not wish to be y… But these, desir’d by you, the mak…
Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth…
Epitaphs i WOULDST thou hear what Man can… In a little? Reader, stay. Underneath this stone doth lie As much Beauty as could die:
Some act of Love’s bound to reherse, I thought to bind him, in my verse… Which when he felt, Away (quoth h…
And must I sing? what subject sha… Or whose great name in Poets heav… For the more countenance to my act… Hercules? alas his bones are yet s… With his old earthly labours. T’e…
The ports of death are sins; of li… Through which our merit leads us t… How wilful blind is he, then, that… And hath it in his powers to make… This world death’s region is, the…
I that have been a lover, and coul… Though not in these, in rhymes n… Since I exscribe your sonnets,… A better lover, and much better po… Nor is my Muse, or I ashamed to o…
The long laments I spent for ruin… Are dried; and now mine eyes run t… No more shall men suppose Electra… Though from the consort of her sis… Unto the Artick circle, here to g…
Walking, snow falling, it is possi… to focus at various distances in turn on separate flakes, sharpl… the attention at several spatial p… the nearer cold and more uncomfort…
Who says that Giles and Joan at d… Â Th’ observing neighbors no such… Indeed, poor Giles repents he mar… Â But that his Joan doth too. An… By his free will be in Joan’s com…
This morning, timely rapt with hol… I thought to form unto my zealous… What kind of creature I could mos… To honour, serve, and love; as poe… I meant to make her fair, and free…
Spies, you are lights in state, bu… Who, when you’ve burnt yourselves… Stink and are thrown away. End fa…
Let it not your wonder move, Less your laughter, that I love. Though I now write fifty years, I have had, and have, my peers. Poets, though divine, are men;
Queen and huntress, chaste and fai… Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light,