Works

Lord, Thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell;
An little house, whose humble roof
Is weather-proof;
Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft and dry;
Where Thou my chamber for to ward...

Store of courage to me grant,
Now I'm turn'd a combatant;
Help me, so that I my shield,
Fighting, lose not in the field.
That's the greatest shame of all
That in warfare can befall....

Goddess, I begin an art;
Come thou in, with thy best part
For to make the texture lie
Each way smooth and civilly;
And a broad-fac'd owl shall be
Offer'd up with vows to thee.

Happily I had a sight
Of my dearest dear last night;
Make her this day smile on me,
And I'll roses give to thee!

Although we cannot turn the fervent fit
Of sin, we must strive 'gainst the stream of it;
And howsoe'er we have the conquest miss'd,
'Tis for our glory that we did resist.

Man may at first transgress, but next do well:
Vice doth in some but lodge a while, not dwell.

Like those infernal deities which eat
The best of all the sacrificed meat;
And leave their servants but the smoke and sweat:
So many kings, and primates too there are,...

In this misfortune kings do most excel,
To hear the worst from men when they do well.

The strength of baptism that's within,
It saves the soul by drowning sin.

We two are last in hell; what may we fear
To be tormented or kept pris'ners here
Alas! if kissing be of plagues the worst,
We'll wish in hell we had been last and first.

Of all our parts, the eyes express
The sweetest kind of bashfulness.

Our bastard children are but like to plate
Made by the coiners--illegitimate.

Beauty's no other but a lovely grace
Of lively colours flowing from the face.

Jacob God's beggar was; and so we wait,
Though ne'er so rich, all beggars at His gate.

Hard are the two first stairs unto a crown:
Which got, the third bids him a king come down.

Paul, he began ill, but he ended well;
Judas began well, but he foully fell:
In godliness not the beginnings so
Much as the ends are to be look'd unto.

When age or chance has made me blind,
So that the path I cannot find,
And when my falls and stumblings are
More than the stones i' th' street by far,
Go thou afore, and I shall well...

Be my mistress short or tall
And distorted therewithall
Be she likewise one of those
That an acre hath of nose
Be her teeth ill hung or set
And her grinders black as jet...

Fools are they who never know
How the times away do go;
But for us, who wisely see
Where the bounds of black death be,
Let's live merrily, and thus
Gratify the Genius.

Who, railing, drives the lazar from his door,
Instead of alms, sets dogs upon the poor.