For ropes of pearl, first Madam Ursly shows A chain of corns picked from her ears and toes; Then, next, to match Tradescant's curious shells, Nails from her fingers mew'd she shows: what else?...
Maggot frequents those houses of good-cheer, Talks most, eats most, of all the feeders there. He raves through lean, he rages through the fat, (What gets the master of the meal by that?)...
Man is composed here of a twofold part; The first of nature, and the next of art; Art presupposes nature; nature, she Prepares the way for man's docility.
Apollo sings, his harp resounds: give room, For now behold the golden pomp is come, Thy pomp of plays which thousands come to see With admiration both of them and thee....
After the rare arch-poet, Jonson, died, The sock grew loathsome, and the buskin's pride, Together with the stage's glory, stood Each like a poor and pitied widowhood....
Sweet Amarillis, by a spring's Soft and soul-melting murmurings, Slept; and thus sleeping, thither flew A Robin-red-breast; who at view, Not seeing her at all to stir,...
Much-more provides and hoards up like an ant, Yet Much-more still complains he is in want. Let Much-more justly pay his tithes; then try How both his meal and oil will multiply.
Should I not put on blacks, when each one here Comes with his cypress and devotes a tear? Should I not grieve, my Lawes, when every lute, Viol, and voice is by thy loss struck mute?...
Wherever Nodes does in the summer come, He prays his harvest may be well brought home. What store of corn has careful Nodes, think you, Whose field his foot is, and whose barn his shoe?
Nothing, thou elder brother even to shade, That hadst a being ere the world was made, And (well fixed) art alone of ending not afraid. Ere time and place were, time and place were not,...
Broomsted a lameness got by cold and beer: And to the bath went, to be cured there: His feet were helped, and left his crutch behind; But home returned, as he went forth, half blind.
What times of sweetness this fair day foreshows, Whenas the Lily marries with the Rose! What next is look'd for? but we all should see To spring from thee a sweet posterity.
Pagget, a schoolboy, got a sword, and then He vow'd destruction both to birch and men: Who would not think this younker fierce to fight? Yet coming home, but somewhat late (last night),...