Now, now the mirth comes With the cake full of plums, Where bean's the king of the sport here; Beside we must know, The pea also Must revel, as queen, in the court here.
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...
Here she lies, a pretty bud, Lately made of flesh and blood; Who as soon fell fast asleep, As her little eyes did peep. Give her strewings, but not stir The earth, that lightly covers her.
As gilliflowers do but stay To blow, and seed, and so away; So you, sweet lady, sweet as May, The garden's glory, lived a while To lend the world your scent and smile....
That morn which saw me made a bride, The evening witness'd that I died. Those holy lights, wherewith they guide Unto the bed the bashful bride, Serv'd but as tapers for to burn...
In this little vault she lies, Here, with all her jealousies: Quiet yet; but if ye make Any noise they both will wake, And such spirits raise 'twill then Trouble death to lay again.
Flood, if he has for him and his a bit, He says his fore and after grace for it: If meat he wants, then grace he says to see His hungry belly borne on legs jail-free....
Now thou art dead, no eye shall ever see, For shape and service, spaniel like to thee. This shall my love do, give thy sad death one Tear, that deserves of me a million.
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....
My Lucia in the dew did go, And prettily bedabbled so, Her clothes held up, she showed withal Her decent legs, clean, long, and small. I follow'd after to descry Part of the nak'd sincerity;...
Sweet Amarillis, by a spring's Soft and soul-melting murmurings, Slept; and thus sleeping, thither flew A Robin-red-breast; who at view, Not seeing her at all to stir,...
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?...
Tap, better known than trusted, as we hear, Sold his old mother's spectacles for beer: And not unlikely; rather too than fail, He'll sell her eyes, and nose, for beer and ale.