Whether I was myself, or else did see Out of myself that glorious hierarchy; Or whether those, in orders rare, or these Made up one state of sixty Venuses; Or whether fairies, syrens, nymphs they were,...
Love in a shower of blossoms came Down, and half drown'd me with the same; The blooms that fell were white and red; But with such sweets commingled, As whether (this) I cannot tell,...
The gods require the thighs Of beeves for sacrifice; Which roasted, we the steam Must sacrifice to them, Who though they do not eat, Yet love the smell of meat.
From this bleeding hand of mine, Take this sprig of Eglantine: Which, though sweet unto your smell, Yet the fretful briar will tell, He who plucks the sweets, shall prove Many thorns to be in love.
First, April, she with mellow showers Opens the way for early flowers; Then after her comes smiling May, In a more rich and sweet array; Next enters June, and brings us more...
And must we part, because some say Loud is our love, and loose our play, And more than well becomes the day? Alas for pity! and for us Most innocent, and injured thus!...
Come pity us, all ye who see Our harps hung on the willow-tree; Come pity us, ye passers-by, Who see or hear poor widows' cry; Come pity us, and bring your ears And eyes to pity widows' tears....
Am I despised, because you say; And I dare swear, that I am gray? Know, Lady, you have but your day! And time will come when you shall wear Such frost and snow upon your hair;...
True to yourself and sheets, you'll have me swear; You shall, if righteous dealing I find there. Do not you fall through frailty; I'll be sure To keep my bond still free from forfeiture.
Rapine has yet took nought from me; But if it please my God I be Brought at the last to th' utmost bit, God make me thankful still for it. I have been grateful for my store:...
What though my harp and viol be Both hung upon the willow tree? What though my bed be now my grave, And for my house I darkness have? What though my healthful days are fled,...
Play I could once; but, gentle friend, you see My harp hung up here on the willow tree. Sing I could once; and bravely, too, inspire With luscious numbers my melodious lyre....
Words beget anger; anger brings forth blows; Blows make of dearest friends immortal foes. For which prevention, sociate, let there be Betwixt us two no more logomachy....
When first I find those numbers thou dost write, To be most soft, terse, sweet, and perpolite: Next, when I see thee tow'ring in the sky, In an expansion no less large than high;...
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; -...