#EnglishWriters
Tis not from cheap thanks thinly t… Th’ immortal grove of thy fair-ord… Thou planted’st round my humble fa… Stick on thy hearse this sprig of… Nor that your soul so fast was lin…
SHE beat the happy pavement— By such a star made firmament, Which now no more the roof envi… But swells up high, with Atlas… Bearing the brighter nobler hea…
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…
When I by thy faire shape did swe… And mingled with each vowe a teare… I lov’d, I lov’d thee best, I swore as I profest. For all the while you lasted warme…
Heark, faire one, how what e’re he… Doth laugh and sing at thy distres… Not out of hate to thy reliefe, But joy t’ enjoy thee, though in g… II.
Hearke, reader! wilt be learn’d it… A gen’rall in a gowne? Strike a league with arts and scar… And snatch from each a crowne? II.
Sir, your sad absence I complain,… Her long-hid spring, that gave her… Who now her cheerful aromatick hea… Shrinks in her cold and dismal wid… Whilst the false sun her lover dot…
When Love with unconfinèd wings Hovers within my Gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the Grates; When I lie tangled in her hair,
THEOPHILE BEING DENY… TURNED THE AFFRONT T… Si Jaques, le Roy du scavior, Ne trouue bon de me voir, Voila la cause infallible!
IN LESBIAM CAT. EP. 76. Huc est mens deducta tua, mea Les… Atque ita se officio perdidit ipsa… Ut jam nec bene velle queam tibi,… Nec desistere amare, omnia si faci…
Amarantha sweet and faire, Ah brade no more that shining hair… As my curious hand or eye, Hovering round thee, let it flye. II.
Strive not, vain lover, to be fine… Thy silk’s the silk-worm’s, and no… You lessen to a fly your mistriss’… To think it may be in a cobweb cau… What, though her thin transparent…
FLORIDI. DE EBRIOSO. Phoebus me in somnis vetuit potare… Pareo praeceptis: tunc bibo cum vi… OF A DRUNKARD. Phoebus asleep forbad me wine to t…
What, so beyond all madnesse is th… Now he hath got out of himself! His fatal enemy the Bee, Nor his deceiv’d artillerie, His shackles, nor the roses bough
SEE! what an undisturbed teare She weepes for her last sleepe ; But, viewing her straight wak’d a… She weepes that she did weepe. II