#EnglishWriters
In sober mornings do thou not rehe… The holy incantation of a verse; But when that men have both well d… Let my enchantments then be sung,… When laurel spurts i’ th’ fire, an…
Wanton wenches do not bring For my hairs black colouring: For my locks, girls, let 'em be Grey or white, all’s one to me.
What conscience, say, is it in the… When I a heart had one, [won] To take away that heart from me, And to retain thy own? For shame or pity, now incline
I ask’d thee oft what poets thou h… And lik’st the best? Still thou… —I shall, ere long, with green tur… Then sure thou’lt like, or thou wi…
Fame’s pillar here at last we set, Out—during marble, brass or jet; Charmed and enchanted so As to withstand the blow O f o v e r t h r o w ;
The Rose was sick, and smiling di… And, being to be sanctified, About the bed, there sighing stood The sweet and flowery sisterhood. Some hung the head, while some did…
Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones; come, and buy: If so be you ask me where They do grow? I answer, there Where my Julia’s lips do smile;—
Let us, though late, at last, my… And loving lie in one devoted bed. Thy watch may stand, my minutes fl… No sound calls back the year that… Then, sweetest Silvia, let’s no l…
Here she lies, in bed of spice, Fair as Eve in paradise; For her beauty, it was such, Poets could not praise too much. Virgins come, and in a ring
Sadly I walk’d within the field, To see what comfort it would yield… And as I went my private way, An olive-branch before me lay; And seeing it, I made a stay,
Why I tie about thy wrist, Julia, this silken twist; For what other reason ’tis But to show thee how, in part, Thou my pretty captive art?
These springs were maidens once th… But lost to that they most approve… My story tells, by Love they were Turn’d to these springs which we s… The pretty whimpering that they ma…
Weigh me the fire; or canst thou f… A way to measure out the wind? Distinguish all those floods that… Mixed in that wat’ry theater, And taste thou them as saltless th…
Love’s of itself too sweet; the be… Is, when love’s honey has a dash o…
Night hath no wings to him that ca… And Time seems then not for to fl… Slowly her chariot drives, as if t… Had broke her wheel, or crack’d he… Just so it is with me, who list’ni…