I'll write, because I'll give - You critics means to live; For should I not supply - The cause, the effect would die
Each must in virtue strive for to excel; That man lives twice that lives the first life well.
In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
Here a little child I stand, Heaving up my either hand; Cold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to Thee, for a benison to fall on our meat, and on us all. Amen.
Hell is no other but a soundlesse pit, Where no one beame of comfort peeps in it.
For pitty, Sir, find out that Bee Which bore my Love away I'le seek him in your Bonnet brave, I'le seek him in your eyes.
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free, O how that glittering taketh me!
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.
The May-pole is up, Now give me the cup; I'll drink to the garlands around it; But first unto those Whose hands did compose The glory of flowers that crown'd it.
Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones; come and buy. If so be you ask me where They do grow, I answer: There, Where my Julia's lips do smile; There's the land, or cherry-isle, Whose plantations fully show All the year where cherries grow.
Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green, And sweet as Flora. Take no care For jewels for your gown or hair Fear not; the leaves will strew Gems in abundance upon you Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, Against you come, some orient pearls unwept. Come, and receive them while the light Hangs on the dew-locks of the night And Titan on the eastern hill Retires himself, or else stands still Till you come forth! Wash, dress, be brief in praying Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.
Things are evermore sincere; / Candor here, and lustre there / Delighting.
Tears are the noble language of the eye.
He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck into a second yoke.
Fain would I kiss my Julia's dainty leg, Which is as white and hairless as an egg.
Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand That soils my land, And giv'st me for my bushel sowne Twice ten for one. All this, and better, Thou dost send Me, to this end, That I should render, for my part, A thankful heart.
Whatever comes, let's be content withal: Among God's blessings there is no one small.
Roses at first were white, Till thy co'd not agree, Whether my Sapho's breast, Or they more white sho'd be.
Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may.
In ways to greatness think on this, That slippery all ambition is
Necessity makes dastards valiant men.
Praise they that will times past, I joy to see My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.
Hast thou attempted greatnesse? Then go on; Back-turning slackens resolution.
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.
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