Welcome, most welcome to our vows and us, Most great and universal genius! The drooping West, which hitherto has stood As one in long-lamented widowhood, Looks like a bride now, or a bed of flowers...
Go on, brave Hopton, to effectuate that Which we, and times to come, shall wonder at. Lift up thy sword; next, suffer it to fall, And by that one blow set an end to all.
Well may my book come forth like public day When such a light as you are leads the way, Who are my work's creator, and alone The flame of it, and the expansion. And look how all those heavenly lamps acquire...
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....
Comely acts well; and when he speaks his part, He doth it with the sweetest tones of art: But when he sings a psalm, there's none can be More curs'd for singing out of tune than he.
First, for effusions due unto the dead, My solemn vows have here accomplished; Next, how I love thee, that my grief must tell, Wherein thou liv'st for ever. Dear, farewell!
Tell me, what needs those rich deceits, These golden toils, and trammel nets, To take thine hairs when they are known Already tame, and all thine own? 'Tis I am wild, and more than hairs...
How fierce was I, when I did see My Julia wash herself in thee! So lilies thorough crystal look: So purest pebbles in the brook: As in the river Julia did, Half with a lawn of water hid....
My Lucia in the dew did go, And prettily bedabbled so, Her clothes held up, she showed withal Her decent legs, clean, long, and small. I follow'd after to descry Part of the nak'd sincerity;...
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....
To paint the fiend, Pink would the devil see; And so he may, if he'll be rul'd by me; Let but Pink's face i' th' looking-glass be shown, And Pink may paint the devil's by his own.
Never was day so over-sick with showers But that it had some intermitting hours; Never was night so tedious but it knew The last watch out, and saw the dawning too; Never was dungeon so obscurely deep...
Thrice happy roses, so much grac'd to have Within the bosom of my love your grave. Die when ye will, your sepulchre is known, Your grave her bosom is, the lawn the stone.
Though a wise man all pressures can sustain, His virtue still is sensible of pain: Large shoulders though he has, and well can bear, He feels when packs do pinch him, and the where.
Once on a Lord Mayor's Day, in Cheapside, when Skulls could not well pass through that scum of men, For quick despatch Skulls made no longer stay Than but to breathe, and everyone gave way;...