So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade; All love, all liking, all delight Lies drowned with us in endless night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying; Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying.
When the tempter me pursueth With the sins of all my youth, And half damns me with untruth, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
Let my muse Fail of thy former helps, and only use Her inadulterate strength. What's done by me Hereafter shall smell of the lamp, not thee.
T is the will that makes the action good or ill.
A careless shoe string, in whose tie I see a wilde civility.
The readiness of doing doth expresse No other but the doer's willingnesse.
Praise they that will times past, I joy to see My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.
When one is past, another care we have; Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave.
Against diseases here the strongest fence is the defensive vertue, Abstinence.
Before man's fall the rose was born,St. Ambrose says, without the thorn;But for man's fault then was the thornWithout the fragrant rose-bud born; But ne'er the rose without the thorn.
Give, if thou can, an alms; if not, a sweet and gentle word.
Like will to like, each creature loves his kind.
Love is maintain'd by wealth: when all is spent, Adversity then breeds the discontent.
Give house-room to the best; 'tis never known Verture and pleasure both to dwell in one.
Let wealth come in by comely thrift, And not by any sordid shift; 'T is haste Makes waste; Extremes have still their fault. Who gripes too hard the dry and slipp'ry sand, Holds none at all, or little, in his hand.
A winning wave, (deserving note.) In the tempestuous petticote, A careless shoe-string, in whose tye I see a wilde civility,-- Doe more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part.
Learn this of me, where'er thy lot doth fall, Short lot, or not, to be content with all.
We credit most our sight; one eye doth please Our trust farre more than ten eare-witnesses.
Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
Here a pretty Baby lies Sung asleep with Lullabies: Pray be silent, and not stirre The easie earth that covers her.
Hast thou attempted greatnesse? Then go on; Back-turning slackens resolution.
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