With the old kindness, the old distinguished grace She lies, her lovely piteous head amid dull red hair Propped upon pillows, rouge on the pallor of her face....
A golden fly one show'd to me, Clos'd in a box of ivory, Where both seem'd proud: the fly to have His burial in an ivory grave; The ivory took state to hold A corpse as bright as burnish'd gold....
So long you did not sing or touch your lute, We knew 'twas flesh and blood that there sat mute. But when your playing and your voice came in, 'Twas no more you then, but a cherubin.
How should the world be luckier if this house, Where passion and precision have been one Time out of mind, became too ruinous To breed the lidless eye that loves the sun?...
Twice has Pudica been a bride, and led By holy Hymen to the nuptial bed. Two youths she's known thrice two, and twice three years; Yet not a lily from the bed appears:...
As gilliflowers do but stay To blow, and seed, and so away; So you, sweet lady, sweet as May, The garden's glory, lived a while To lend the world your scent and smile....
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 Her supremest requiem sing;...
That morn which saw me made a bride, The evening witness'd that I died. Those holy lights, wherewith they guide Unto the bed the bashful bride, Serv'd but as tapers for to burn...
Tread, sirs, as lightly as ye can Upon the grave of this old man. Twice forty, bating but one year And thrice three weeks, he lived here. Whom gentle fate translated hence To a more happy residence....
Old Widow Prouse, to do her neighbours evil, Would give, some say, her soul unto the devil. Well, when she's kill'd that pig, goose, cock, or hen, What would she give to get that soul again?
Thou cam'st to cure me, doctor, of my cold, And caught'st thyself the more by twenty fold: Prithee go home; and for thy credit be First cured thyself, then come and cure me.
Spend, harmless shade, thy nightly hours Selecting here both herbs and flowers; Of which make garlands here and there To dress thy silent sepulchre. Nor do thou fear the want of these...