Sapho, I will choose to go Where the northern winds do blow Endless ice, and endless snow; Rather than I once would see But a winter's face in thee, To benumb my hopes and me.
Let us now take time and play, Love, and live here while we may; Drink rich wine, and make good cheer, While we have our being here; For once dead and laid i' th' grave, No return from thence we have.
Pardon my trespass, Silvia! I confess My kiss out-went the bounds of shamefacedness: None is discreet at all times; no, not Jove Himself, at one time, can be wise and love.
No more, my Silvia, do I mean to pray For those good days that ne'er will come away. I want belief; O gentle Silvia, be The patient saint, and send up vows for me.
Let us, though late, at last, my Silvia, wed; And loving lie in one devoted bed. Thy watch may stand, my minutes fly post haste; No sound calls back the year that once is past....
Since to the country first I came, I have lost my former flame; And, methinks, I not inherit, As I did, my ravish'd spirit. If I write a verse or two, 'Tis with very much ado;...
Stand forth, brave man, since fate has made thee here The Hector over aged Exeter, Who for a long, sad time has weeping stood Like a poor lady lost in widowhood, But fears not now to see her safety sold,...
I heard ye could cool heat, and came With hope you would allay the same; Thrice I have wash'd but feel no cold, Nor find that true which was foretold. Methinks, like mine, your pulses beat...
I'm sick of love, O let me lie Under your shades to sleep or die! Either is welcome, so I have Or here my bed, or here my grave. Why do you sigh, and sob, and keep Time with the tears that I do weep?...
Welcome, great C'sar, welcome now you are As dearest peace after destructive war: Welcome as slumbers, or as beds of ease After our long and peevish sicknesses. O pomp of glory! Welcome now, and come...
Ye pretty housewives, would ye know The work that I would put ye to? This, this it should be: for to spin A lawn for me, so fine and thin As it might serve me for my skin....
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;...
I, who have favour'd many, come to be Grac'd now, at last, or glorified by thee, Lo! I, the lyric prophet, who have set On many a head the delphic coronet, Come unto thee for laurel, having spent...
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,...
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;...
So long you did not sing or touch your lute, We knew 'twas flesh and blood that there sat mute. But when your playing and your voice came in, 'Twas no more you then, but a cherubin.