If after rude and boisterous seas My wearied pinnace here finds ease; If so it be I've gain'd the shore, With safety of a faithful oar; If having run my barque on ground, Ye see the aged vessel crown'd;...
I am of all bereft, Save but some few beans left, Whereof, at last, to make For me and mine a cake, Which eaten, they and I Will say our grace, and die.
I cannot pipe as I was wont to do, Broke is my reed, hoarse is my singing, too; My wearied oat I'll hang upon the tree, And give it to the sylvan deity.
May his pretty dukeship grow Like t'a rose of Jericho: Sweeter far than ever yet Showers or sunshines could beget. May the Graces and the Hours Strew his hopes and him with flowers:...
The sup'rabundance of my store, That is the portion of the poor: Wheat, barley, rye, or oats; what is't But He takes toll of? all the grist. Two raiments have I: Christ then makes...
Fly to my mistress, pretty pilfering bee, And say thou bring'st this honey-bag from me; When on her lip thou hast thy sweet dew placed, Mark if her tongue but slyly steal a taste;...
Ask me why I send you here This sweet Infanta of the year? Ask me why I send to you This Primrose, thus bepearl'd with dew? I will whisper to your ears, The sweets of love are mixt with tears. ...
For each one body that i' th' earth is sown, There's an uprising but of one for one; But for each grain that in the ground is thrown, Threescore or fourscore spring up thence for one:...
Some ask'd me where the Rubies grew: And nothing I did say, But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia. Some ask'd how Pearls did grow, and where: Then spoke I to my girl,...
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,...
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:...
Next is your lot, fair, to be number'd one, Here, in my book's canonisation: Late you come in; but you a saint shall be, In chief, in this poetic liturgy.
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;...