Jacke-On-Both-Sides
I hold as fayth What Rome’s Church sayth Where the King’s head, That flock’s misled Where th’ Altar’s drest That People’s blest Who shuns the Masse Hee’s but an Asse Who Charity preach They
On Fayrford Windowes
I know no paynt of poetry Can mend such colourd Imag’ry In sullen inke: yet Fayrford, I May relish thy fayre memory. Such is the Ecchoes faynter sound, Such is the light when sunne
A Strange Gentlewoman Passing By His Window
As I out of a casement sent Mine eyes as wand’ring as my thought, Upon no certayne object bent, But only what occasion brought, A sight surpriz’d my hart at last, Nor knewe I
On The Death Of The Right Honourable The Lord Viscount Bayning
Though after Death, Thanks lessen into Praise, And Worthies be not crown’d with gold, but bayes; Shall we not thank? To praise Thee all agree; We Debtors must out doe it, heartily. Deserved Nobility
On Chloris Walking in the Snow
I saw fair Chloris walk alone, Whilst feather’d rain came softly down, And Jove descended from his tower To court her in a silver shower. The wanton snow flew on her breast Like little
On The Death Of Dr. Lancton President Of Maudlin College
When men for injuryes unsatisfy’d, For hopes cutt off, for debts not fully payd, For legacies in vain expected, mourne Over theyr owne respects within the urne, Races of tears all striveing first to
Keepe On Your Maske (Version for his Mistress)
Keepe on your maske and hide your eye For in beholding you I dye. Your fatall beauty Gorgon-like Dead with astonishment doth strike. Your piercing eyes that now I see Are worse than Basilisks
A Superscription On Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, Sent For A Token
Whatever in Philoclea the fair Or the discreet Pamela figur’d are, Change but the name the virtues are your owne, And for a fiction there a truth is knowne: If any service here perform’d
On Jealousy
There is a thing that nothing is, A foolish wanton, sober wise; It hath noe wings, noe eyes, noe eares, And yet it flies, it sees, it heares; It lives by losse, it feeds
Keepe On Your Maske And Hide Your Eye
Keepe on your maske, and hide your eye, For with beholding you I dye: Your fatall beauty, Gorgon-like, Dead with astonishment will strike; Your piercing eyes if them I see Are worse than basilisks
On A Friends Absence
Come, come, I faint: thy heavy stay Doubles each houre of the day: The winged hast of nimble love Makes aged Time not seeme to move: Did not the light, And then the night
To The Right Honourable The Lady Penelope Dowager Of The Late Vis-Count Bayning
Great Lady, Humble partners of like griefe In bringing Comfort may deserve beliefe, Because they Feele and Feyne not: Thus we say Unto Ourselves, Lord Bayning, though away, Is still of Christ-Church; somewhat out
On The Yong Baronett Portman Dying Of An Impostume In's Head
Is Death so cunning now that all her blowe Aymes at the heade? Doth now her wary Bowe Make surer worke than heertofore? The steele Slew warlike heroes onely in the heele. New found
A Watch Sent Home To Mrs. Eliz: King, Wrapt In Theis Verses
Goe and count her better houres; They more happie are than ours. The day that gives her any blisse Make it as long againe as tis: The houre shee smiles in lett it bee
On A Gentlewoman's Blistred Lipp
Hide not that sprouting lipp, nor kill The juicy bloome with bashfull skill: Know it is an amorous dewe That swells to court thy corall hewe, And what a blemish you esteeme To other