#EnglishWriters
What is our life? A play of passi… Our mirth the music of division, Our mother’s wombs the tiring—hous… Where we are dressed for this shor… Heaven the judicious sharp spectat…
WHAT is our life? The play of pa… Our mirth? The music of division: Our mothers’ wombs the tiring—hous… Where we are dressed for life’s sh… The earth the stage; Heaven the s…
Your dog is not a dog of grace; He does not wag the tail or beg; He bit Miss Dickson in the face; He bit a Bailie in the leg. What tragic choices such a dog
Give me my scallop shell of quiet, My staff of faith to walk upon, My scrip of joy, immortal diet, My bottle of salvation, My gown of glory, hope’s true gage…
PASSIONS are liken’d best to f… The shallow murmur, but the deep a… So, when affection yields discours… The bottom is but shallow whence t… They that are rich in words, in wo…
Attend my words, my gentle knave, And you shall learn from me How boys at dinner may behave With due propriety. Guard well your hands: two things…
If all the world and love were you… And truth in every Shepherd’s ton… These pretty pleasures might me mo… To live with thee, and be thy love… Time drives the flocks from field…
Three things there be that prosper… And flourish, whilst they grow asu… But on a day, they meet all in one… And when they meet, they one anoth… And they be these: the wood, the w…
Prais’d be Diana’s fair and harml… Prais’d be the dews wherewith she… Prais’d be her beams, the glory of… Prais’d be her power by which all… Prais’d be her nymphs with whom sh…
Nature, that washed her hands in m… And had forgot to dry them, Instead of earth took snow and sil… At love’s request to try them, If she a mistress could compose
Farewell, false love, the oracle o… A mortal foe and enemy to rest, An envious boy, from whom all care… A bastard vile, a beast with rage… A way of error, a temple full of t…
Now what is Love, I pray thee, te… It is that fountain and that well Where pleasure and repentance dwel… It is, perhaps, the sauncing bell That tolls all into heaven or hell…
As you came from the holy land Of Walsingham, Met you not with my true love By the way as you came? “How shall I know your true love,
WRONG not, sweet empress of my h… The merit of true passion, With thinking that he feels no sma… That sues for no compassion. Silence in love bewrays more woe