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.
That for seven lusters I did never come To do the rites to thy religious tomb; That neither hair was cut, or true tears shed By me, o'er thee, as justments to the dead,...
Of all those three brave brothers fall'n i' th' war (Not without glory), noble sir, you are, Despite of all concussions, left the stem To shoot forth generations like to them....
If I dare write to you, my lord, who are Of your own self a public theatre, And, sitting, see the wiles, ways, walks of wit, And give a righteous judgment upon it,...
You are a lord, an earl, nay more, a man Who writes sweet numbers well as any can; If so, why then are not these verses hurled, Like Sybil's leaves, throughout the ample world?...
How dull and dead are books that cannot show A prince of Pembroke, and that Pembroke you! You who are high born, and a lord no less Free by your fate than fortune's mightiness,...
Go, happy Rose, and interwove With other flowers, bind my Love. Tell her, too, she must not be Longer flowing, longer free, That so oft has fetter'd me.
If thou dislik'st the piece thou light'st on first, Think that of all, that I have writ, the worst: But if thou read'st my book unto the end, And still do'st this and that verse, reprehend;...
And as time past when Cato the severe Enter'd the circumspacious theatre, In reverence of his person everyone Stood as he had been turn'd from flesh to stone; E'en so my numbers will astonished be...
I saw about her spotless wrist, Of blackest silk, a curious twist; Which, circumvolving gently, there Enthrall'd her arm as prisoner. Dark was the jail, but as if light...
Tread, sirs, as lightly as ye can Upon the grave of this old man. Twice forty, bating but one year And thrice three weeks, he lived here. Whom gentle fate translated hence To a more happy residence....
Droop, droop no more, or hang the head, Ye roses almost withered; Now strength, and newer purple get, Each here declining violet. O primroses! let this day be A resurrection unto ye;...
As shows the air when with a rainbow grac'd, So smiles that riband 'bout my Julia's waist: Or like - nay 'tis that zonulet of love, Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove.
As shews the air when with a rain-bow graced, So smiles that ribbon 'bout my Julia's waist; Or like Nay, 'tis that Zonulet of love, Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove.
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....
Should I not put on blacks, when each one here Comes with his cypress and devotes a tear? Should I not grieve, my Lawes, when every lute, Viol, and voice is by thy loss struck mute?...
What times of sweetness this fair day foreshows, Whenas the Lily marries with the Rose! What next is look'd for? but we all should see To spring from thee a sweet posterity.
Ralph pares his nails, his warts, his corns, and Ralph In sev'rall tills and boxes, keeps 'em safe; Instead of hartshorn, if he speaks the troth, To make a lusty-jelly for his broth.