TO SIR CLIPSBY CREW
Since to the country first I came, I have lost my former flame; And, methinks, I not inherit, As I did, my ravish’d spirit. If I write a verse or two, ‘Tis with very
His Litany to the Holy Spirit
In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit comfort me! When I lie within my bed, Sick in heart, and sick in head, And
A CANTICLE TO APOLLO
Play, Phoebus, on thy lute, And we will sit all mute; By listening to thy lyre, That sets all ears on fire. Hark, hark! the God does play! And as he leads the way
UPON ROSES
Under a lawn, than skies more clear, Some ruffled Roses nestling were, And snugging there, they seem’d to lie As in a flowery nunnery; They blush’d, and look’d more fresh than flowers Quickened of
TO PERENNA
When I thy parts run o’er, I can’t espy In any one, the least indecency; But every line and limb diffused thence A fair and unfamiliar excellence; So that the more I look, the
His Prayer For Absolution
For those my unbaptized rhymes, Writ in my wild unhallowed times, For every sentence, clause, and word, That’s not inlaid with Thee, my Lord, Forgive me, God, and blot each line Out of my
To Live Merrily, And To Trust To Good Verses
Now is the time for mirth, Nor cheek or tongue be dumb; For with the flow’ry earth The golden pomp is come. The golden pomp is come; For now each tree does wear, Made
COCK-CROW
Bell-man of night, if I about shall go For to deny my Master, do thou crow! Thou stop’st Saint Peter in the midst of sin; Stay me, by crowing, ere I do begin; Better
TO MUSIC, TO BECALM HIS FEVER
Charm me asleep, and melt me so With thy delicious numbers; That being ravish’d, hence I go Away in easy slumbers. Ease my sick head, And make my bed, Thou Power that canst sever
HOW HIS SOUL CAME ENSNARED
My soul would one day go and seek For roses, and in Julia’s cheek A richess of those sweets she found, As in another Rosamond; But gathering roses as she was, Not knowing what
TO HIS PATERNAL COUNTRY
O earth! earth! earth! hear thou my voice, and be Loving and gentle for to cover me! Banish’d from thee I live; ne’er to return, Unless thou giv’st my small remains an urn.
TO HIS VERSES
What will ye, my poor orphans, do, When I must leave the world and you; Who’ll give ye then a sheltering shed, Or credit ye, when I am dead? Who’ll let ye by their
TO THE WILLOW-TREE
Thou art to all lost love the best, The only true plant found, Wherewith young men and maids distrest And left of love, are crown’d. When once the lover’s rose is dead Or laid
THE BLEEDING HAND; OR THE SPRIG OF EGLANTINE GIVEN TO A MAID
From this bleeding hand of mine, Take this sprig of Eglantine: Which, though sweet unto your smell, Yet the fretful briar will tell, He who plucks the sweets, shall prove Many thorns to be
LIFE IS THE BODY'S LIGHT
Life is the body’s light; which, once declining, Those crimson clouds i’ th’ cheeks and lips leave shining:- Those counter-changed tabbies in the air, The sun once set, all of one colour are: So,