Things are evermore sincere; / Candor here, and lustre there / Delighting.
Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may.
What though the sea be calm? trust to the shore, Ships have been drown'd, where late they danc'd before.
A little saint best fits a little shrine, A little prop best fits a little vine, As my small cruse best fits my little wine.
Necessity makes dastards valiant men.
Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
When a daffadill I see, Hanging down his head towards me, Guess I may, what I must be: First, I shall decline my head; Secondly, I shall be dead: Lastly, safely buryed.
Who after his transgression doth repent, Is halfe, or altogether, innocent.
He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck into a second yoke.
It is an active flame that fliesFirst to the babies in the eyes.
My soul I'll pour into thee.
Temptations hurt not, though they have accesse; Satan o'ercomes none but by willingnesse.
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a flying: And this same flower that smiles to day, Tomorrow will be dying.
The body is the soul's poor house or home, whose ribs the laths are and whose flesh the loam.
No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
Oft have I heard both youths and virgins say, Birds chuse their mates and couple too this day: But by their flight I never can devine When I shall couple with my valentine.
Our present tears here, not our present laughter Are but the handsells of our joys hereafter.
In sober mornings do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free, O how that glittering taketh me!
Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine.
Then be not coy, but use your time; And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.
Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old.
Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen To come forth, like the springtime, fresh and green
Fair daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon: As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained his noon.
O thou, the drink of gods and angels! Wine
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