Author: Thomas Carew

Can we not force from widow’d poetry, Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegy To crown thy hearse? Why […]

When thou, poor excommunicate From all the joys of love, shalt see The full reward and glorious fate Which my […]

Fond man, that canst believe her blood Will from those purple channels flow; Or that the pure untainted flood Can […]

Give me more love or more disdain; The torrid, or the frozen zone, Bring equal ease unto my pain; The […]

Now that the winter’s gone, the earth hath lost Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost Candies the […]

We read of kings and gods that kindly took A pitcher fill’d with water from the brook ; But I […]

I do not love thee for that fair Rich fan of thy most curious hair; Though the wires thereof be […]

And here the precious dust is laid; Whose purely-temper’d clay was made So fine that it the guest betray’d. Else […]

FEAR not, dear love, that I’ll reveal Those hours of pleasure we two steal ; No eye shall see, nor […]

‘Tis true, dear Ben, thy just chastising hand Hath fix’d upon the sotted age a brand To their swoll’n pride […]