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.
A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness: A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction An erring lace, which here and there Enthralls the crimson stomacher...
Dull to myself, and almost dead to these My many fresh and fragrant mistresses; Lost to all music now, since everything Puts on the semblance here of sorrowing. Sick is the land to th' heart, and doth endure...
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.
To my revenge, and to her desperate fears, Fly, thou made bubble of my sighs and tears! In the wild air, when thou hast roll'd about, And, like a blasting planet, found her out;...
Go, perjured man; and if thou e'er return To see the small remainders in mine urn, When thou shalt laugh at my religious dust, And ask: where's now the colour, form and trust...
O thou, the wonder of all days! O paragon, and pearl of praise! O Virgin-martyr, ever blest Above the rest Of all the maiden-train! We come, And bring fresh strewings to thy tomb. ...
A way enhanced with glass and beads There is, that to the Chapel leads; Whose structure, for his holy rest, Is here the Halcyon's curious nest; Into the which who looks, shall see...
Rare temples thou hast seen, I know, And rich for in and outward show: Survey this chapel, built alone, Without or lime, or wood, or stone: Then say if one thou'st seen more fine...