To my dear Sister, Mrs. C. P. on her Nuptial
We will not like those men our offerings pay Who crown the cup, then think they crown the day. We make no garlands, nor an altar build, Which help not Joy, but Ostentation yield.
Friendships Mystery, To My Dearest Lucasia
Come, my Lucasia, since we see That miracles Men’s Faith do move, By wonder and by prodigy To the dull angry World let’s prove There’s a Religion in our Love. For Though we were
In memory of that excellent person Mrs. Mary Lloyd of Bodidrist in Denbigh-shire
I CANNOT hold, for though to write were rude, Yet to be silent were Ingratitude, And Folly too; for if Posterity Should never hear of such a one as thee, And onely know this
The World
Wee falsely think it due unto our friends, That we should grieve for their too early ends: He that surveys the world with serious eys, And stripps Her from her grosse and weak disguise,