Sir John Suckling
A Ballad upon a Wedding
I tell thee, Dick, where I have been, Where I the rarest things have seen, O, things without compare! Such sights again cannot be found In any place on English ground, Be it at
Song
Why so pale and wan fond lover? Prithee why so pale? Will, when looking well can’t move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee why so pale? Why so dull and mute young sinner? Prithee why
Love Turned to Hatred
I will not love one minute more, I swear! No, not a minute! Not a sigh or tear Thou gett’st from me, or one kind look again, Though thou shouldst court me to ‘t,
Sonnet
Oh, for some honest lover’s ghost, Some kind unbodied post Sent from the shades below! I strangely long to know Whether the noble chaplets wear Those that their mistress’ scorn did bear Or those
If you refuse me once, and think again
If you refuse me once, and think again, I will complain. You are deceiv’d, love is no work of art, It must be got and born, Not made and worn, By every one that
The Constant Lover
Out upon it, I have lov’d Three whole days together; And am like to love three more, If it prove fair weather. Time shall molt away his wings Ere he shall discover In such
A Doubt of Martyrdom
O for some honest lover’s ghost, Some kind unbodied post Sent from the shades below! I strangely long to know Whether the noble chaplets wear Those that their mistress’ scorn did bear Or those
A Supplement of an Imperfect Copy of Verses of Mr. William
One of her hands one of her cheeks lay under, Cosening the pillow of a lawful kiss, Which therefore swell’d, and seem’d to part asunder, As angry to be robb’d of such a bliss!
Out upon it, I have lov'd
Out upon it, I have lov’d Three whole days together; And am like to love three more, If it prove fair weather. Time shall moult away his wings, Ere he shall discover In the
I prithee spare me gentle boy
I prithee spare me gentle boy, Press me no more for that slight toy, That foolish trifle of an heart; I swear it will not do its part, Though thou dost thine, employ’st thy
I prithee send me back my heart
I prithee send me back my heart, Since I cannot have thine; For if from yours you will not part, Why, then, shouldst thou have mine? Yet now I think on’t, let it lie,
When, Dearest, I But Think of Thee
When, dearest I but think of thee, Methinks all things that lovely be Are present, and my soul delighted: For beauties that from worth arise Are like the grace of deities, Still present with