Works

In battles what disasters fall,
The king he bears the blame of all.

Among disasters that dissension brings,
This not the least is, which belongs to kings:
If wars go well, each for a part lays claim;
If ill, then kings, not soldiers, bear the blame.

To his book's end this last line he'd have placed:
Jocund his muse was, but his life was chaste.

Dead falls the cause if once the hand be mute;
But let that speak, the client gets the suit.

Man may want land to live in; but for all
Nature finds out some place for burial.

Oft bend the bow, and thou with ease shalt do
What others can't with all their strength put to.

God is not only merciful to call
Men to repent, but when He strikes withal.

Play, Phoebus, on thy lute,
And we will sit all mute;
By listening to thy lyre,
That sets all ears on fire.

Hark, hark! the God does play!
And as he leads the way...

Care keeps the conquest; 'tis no less renown
To keep a city than to win a town.

Good things, that come of course, far less do please
Than those which come by sweet contingencies.

Know when to speak; for many times it brings
Danger to give the best advice to kings.

Down with the rosemary and bays,
Down with the misletoe;
Instead of holly, now up-raise
The greener box, for show.

The holly hitherto did sway;
Let box now domineer,...

Come, bring with a noise,
My merry, merry boys,
The Christmas Log to the firing;
While my good Dame, she
Bids ye all be free;
And drink to your heart's desiring.

With the last year's brand...

Down with the rosemary, and so
Down with the bays and misletoe;
Down with the holly, ivy, all
Wherewith ye dress'd the Christmas hall;
That so the superstitious find...

All things subjected are to fate;
Whom this morn sees most fortunate,
The evening sees in poor estate.

What now we like anon we disapprove:
The new successor drives away old love.

Bring the holy crust of bread,
Lay it underneath the head;
'Tis a certain charm to keep
Hags away, while children sleep.

Ph. Charon! O gentle Charon! let me woo thee
By tears and pity now to come unto me.
Ch. What voice so sweet and charming do I hear?
Say what thou art. Ph. I prithee first draw near....

'Tis not a thousand bullocks' thighs
Can please those heav'nly deities,
If the vower don't express
In his offering cheerfulness.

Julia and I did lately sit,
playing for sport at cherry-pit;
She threw; I cast; and, having thrown
I got the pit, she got the stone.