A MEDITATION FOR HIS MISTRESS
You are a Tulip seen to-day, But, Dearest, of so short a stay, That where you grew, scarce man can say. You are a lovely July-flower; Yet one rude wind, or ruffling shower, Will
LOVE LIGHTLY PLEASED
Let fair or foul my mistress be, Or low, or tall, she pleaseth me; Or let her walk, or stand, or sit, The posture her’s, I’m pleased with it; Or let her tongue be
ORPHEUS
Orpheus he went, as poets tell, To fetch Eurydice from hell; And had her, but it was upon This short, but strict condition; Backward he should not look, while he Led her through hell’s
THE BRIDE-CAKE
This day, my Julia, thou must make For Mistress Bride the wedding-cake: Knead but the dough, and it will be To paste of almonds turn’d by thee; Or kiss it thou but once or
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
HOW SPRINGS CAME FIRST
These springs were maidens once that loved, But lost to that they most approved: My story tells, by Love they were Turn’d to these springs which we see here: The pretty whimpering that they
THE ROCK OF RUBIES, AND THE QUARRY OFPEARLS
Some ask’d me where the Rubies grew: And nothing I did say, But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia. Some ask’d how Pearls did grow, and where: Then spoke I to
THE FAIRIES
If ye will with Mab find grace, Set each platter in his place; Rake the fire up, and get Water in, ere sun be set. Wash your pails and cleanse your dairies, Sluts are
THE BEGGAR TO MAB, THE FAIRY QUEEN
Please your Grace, from out your store Give an alms to one that’s poor, That your mickle may have more. Black I’m grown for want of meat, Give me then an ant to eat,
HIS CONTENT IN THE COUNTRY
HERE, Here I live with what my board Can with the smallest cost afford; Though ne’er so mean the viands be, They well content my Prue and me: Or pea or bean, or wort
To Perilla
Ah, my Perilla, dost thou grieve to see Me day by day to steal away from thee? Age calls me hence, and my grey hairs bid come, And haste away to mine eternal home.
A PASTORAL SUNG TO THE KING
MONTANO, SILVIO, AND MIRTILLO, SHEPHERDS MON. Bad are the times. SIL. And worse than they are we. MON. Troth, bad are both; worse fruit, and ill the tree: The feast of shepherds fail. SIL.
THE WASSAIL
Give way, give way, ye gates, and win An easy blessing to your bin And basket, by our entering in. May both with manchet stand replete; Your larders, too, so hung with meat, That
His Meditation Upon Death
BE those few hours, which I have yet to spend, Blest with the meditation of my end; Though they be few in number, I’m content; If otherwise, I stand indifferent, Nor makes it matter,
TO HIS BOOK
Make haste away, and let one be A friendly patron unto thee; Lest, rapt from hence, I see thee lie Torn for the use of pastery; Or see thy injured leaves serve well To