Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love?- Epithalamion
The poets' scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives all else is claimed by death.
Her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.
So furiously each other did assayle, As if their soules they would attonce haue rent Out of their brests, that streames of bloud did rayle Adowne, as if their springes of life were spent; That all the...
Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it,For that your self ye daily such doe see:But the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit,And vertuous mind, is much more praysd of me.For all the rest, how ever fa...
With golden giftes and many a guilefull word
For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.
Aye me, how many perils do enfoldThe righteous man, to make him daily fall?Were not, that heavenly grace doth him uphold,And steadfast truth acquite him out of all.
For love is a celestial harmonyOf likely hearts compos'd of stars' concent,Which join together in sweet sympathy,To work each other's joy and true content,Which they have harbour'd since their first d...
All this world's glory seemeth vain to me,And all their shows but shadows, saving she.
[...] one louing howreFor many yeares of sorrow can dispence:A dram of sweet is worth a pound of sowre
There is nothing lost, but may be found, if sought.(No hay nada perdido, que no pueda encontrarse, si se lo busca)
Ah lucklesse babe, borne vnder cruell starre,And in dead parents balefull ashes bred,Full litle weenest thou, what sorrowes areLeft thee for portion of thy liuelihed,Poore Orphane in the wide world sc...
Why then should witless man so much misweeneThat nothing is but that which he hath seene?
For whatsoever from one place doth fall, Is with the tide unto an other brought: For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.
And he that strives to touch the starsOft stumbles at a straw.
He seekes out mighty charmes , to trouble sleepy mindes.
One day I wrote her name upon the strand,But came the waves and washèd it away:Again I wrote it with a second hand,But came the tide and made my pains his prey.Vain man (said she) that dost in vain as...
O what auailes it of immortall seedTo beene ybred and neuer borne to die?Farre better I it deeme to die with speed,Then waste in woe and wailefull miserie.Who dyes the vtmost dolour doth abye,But who...
One day I wrote her name upon the strand,But came the waves and washèd it away:Again I wrote it with a second hand,But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.