#EnglishWriters
No fault in women, to refuse The offer which they most would ch… —No fault: in women, to confess How tedious they are in their dres… —No fault in women, to lay on
Come, sit we under yonder tree, Where merry as the maids we’ll be; And as on primroses we sit, We’ll venture, if we can, at wit; If not, at draw-gloves we will pla…
Come thou, who art the wine and wi… Of all I’ve writ; The grace, the glory, and the best Piece of the rest; Thou art of what I did intend
O thou, the wonder of all days! O paragon, and pearl of praise! O Virgin-martyr, ever blest Above the rest Of all the maiden-train! We come…
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…
Come, Sons of Summer, by whose to… We are the lords of wine and oil: By whose tough labours, and rough… We rip up first, then reap our lan… Crown’d with the ears of corn, now…
When I thy parts run o’er, I can’… In any one, the least indecency; But every line and limb diffused t… A fair and unfamiliar excellence; So that the more I look, the more…
Let fair or foul my mistress be, Or low, or tall, she pleaseth me; Or let her walk, or stand, or sit, The posture her’s, I’m pleased wi… Or let her tongue be still, or sti…
Have ye beheld (with much delight) A red rose peeping through a white… Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam
Why dost thou wound and break my h… As if we should for ever part? Hast thou not heard an oath from m… After a day, or two, or three, I would come back and live with th…
Man is composed here of a twofold… The first of nature, and the next… Art presupposes nature; nature, sh… Prepares the way for man’s docilit…
Lord, Thou hast given me a cell Wherein to dwell, A little house, whose humble roof Is weather—proof: Under the spars of which I lie
Ye have been fresh and green, Ye have been fill’d with flowers; And ye the walks have been Where maids have spent their hours… You have beheld how they
A wearied pilgrim I have wander’d… Twice five-and-twenty, bate me but… Long I have lasted in this world;… But yet those years that I have l… Who by his gray hairs doth his lus…
Time was upon The wing, to fly away; And I call’d on Him but awhile to stay; But he’d be gone,