Works

Simple was I and was young;Kept no gallant tryst, I;Even from good words held my tongue,Quoniam Tu fecisti!Through my...

Reason, in faith thou art well seru'd that stillWouldst brabbling be with Sense and Loue in me;I rather wisht thee...

Stella, thinke not that I by verse seeke fame,Who seeke, who hope, who loue, who liue but thee;Thine eyes my pride,...

Stella, while now, by Honours cruell might,I am from you, light of my life, misled,And whiles, faire you, my sunne,...

Be your words made, good Sir, of Indian ware,That you allow me them by so small rate?Or do you curtted Spartanes...

O fate, O fault, O curse, child of my blisse!What sobs can giue words grace my griefe to show?What inke is blacke...

Griefe, find the words; for thou hast made my braineSo darke with misty vapuors, which ariseFrom out thy heauy mould,...

When far-spent Night perswades each mortall eye,To whome nor Art nor Nature graunteth light,To lay his then...

Yet sighes, deare sighs, indeede true friends you are,That do not leaue your best friend at the wurst,But, as you...

Thought, with good cause thou lik'st so well the night,Since kind or chance giues both one liuerie,Both sadly blacke,...

Dian, that faine would cheare her friend the Night,Shewes her oft, at the full, her fairest face,Bringing with her...

Ah, bed! the field where Ioyes peace some do see,The field where all my thoughts to warre be train'd,How is thy grace...

In truth, O Loue, with what a boyish kindThou doest proceed in thy most serious ways,That when the heau'n to thee his...

Cupid, because thou shin'st in Stellaes eyesThat from her locks thy day-nets none scapes freeThat those lips sweld so...

Phoebus was iudge betweene Ioue, Mars, and Loue,Of those three gods, whose armes the fairest were.Ioues golden shield...

Alas, haue I not pain enough, my friend,Vpon whose breast a fiecer Gripe doth tireThan did on him who first stale...

On Cupids bowe how are my heart-strings bent,That see my wracke, and yet embrace the same!When most I glory, then I...

As good to write, as for to lie and grone.O Stella deare, how much thy powre hath wrought,That hast my mind (now of...

Hauing this day my horse, my hand, my launceGuided so well that I obtain'd the prize,Both by the iudgement of the...

O eyes, which do the spheres of beauty moue;Whose beames be ioyes, whose ioyes all vertues be,Who, while they make...