Does fortune rend thee? Bear with thy hard fate: Virtuous instructions ne'er are delicate. Say, does she frown? still countermand her threats: Virtue best loves those children that she beats.
Welcome! but yet no entrance, till we bless First you, then you, and both for white success. Profane no porch, young man and maid, for fear Ye wrong the Threshold-god that keeps peace here:...
Blessings in abundance come To the bride and to her groom; May the bed and this short night Know the fullness of delight! Pleasure many here attend ye, And, ere long, a boy love send ye,...
Let others look for pearl and gold, Tissues, or tabbies manifold: One only lock of that sweet hay Whereon the blessed Baby lay, Or one poor swaddling-clout, shall be The richest New-Year's gift to me.
God hates the dual number, being known The luckless number of division; And when He bless'd each sev'ral day whereon He did His curious operation, 'Tis never read there, as the fathers say,...
What others have with cheapness seen and ease In varnish'd maps, by th' help of compasses, Or read in volumes and those books with all Their large narrations incanonical,...
You say I love not, 'cause I do not play Still with your curls, and kiss the time away. You blame me, too, because I can't devise Some sport, to please those babies in your eyes; -...
On, as thou hast begun, brave youth, and get The palm from Urbin, Titian, Tintoret, Brugel and Coxu, and the works outdo Of Holbein and that mighty Rubens too. So draw and paint as none may do the like,...
Thou'st dar'd too far; but, fury, now forbear To give the least disturbance to her hair: But less presume to lay a plait upon Her skin's most smooth and clear expansion. 'Tis like a lawny firmament as yet,...
Never my book's perfection did appear Till I had got the name of Villars here: Now 'tis so full that when therein I look I see a cloud of glory fills my book. Here stand it still to dignify our Muse,...
For one so rarely tun'd to fit all parts, For one to whom espous'd are all the arts, Long have I sought for, but could never see Them all concentr'd in one man, but thee....
So smell those odours that do rise From out the wealthy spiceries; So smells the flower of blooming clove, Or roses smother'd in the stove; So smells the air of spiced wine, Or essences of jessamine;...
When I departed am, ring thou my knell, Thou pitiful and pretty Philomel: And when I'm laid out for a corse, then be Thou sexton, redbreast, for to cover me.