Occasional Issues of Unique Or Very Rare Books, Issue 2

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Page 60 - Of those fierce darts despair at me doth throw; 0 make in me those civil wars to cease; 1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, A rosy garland and a weary head; And if -these things, as being thine by right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.
Page 63 - Thou spares, alas ! who cannot be thy guest. Since I am thine, O come, but with that face To inward light which thou art wont to show, With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe; Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace, Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath, I long to kiss the image of my death.
Page 60 - COME, sleep ; O sleep ! the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, The indifferent judge between the high and low ; With shield of proof, shield me from out the prease Of those fierce darts despair at me doth throw.
Page 62 - And if my tongue eternize can your praise, Or silly speech increase your worthy fame, If ought I can, to heaven your worth can raise, The age to come shall wonder at the same. In this respect your love, sweet love, I told, My faith and truth I vowed should be forever.
Page 82 - Like silly boates in shallow rivers tost, Loosing their paynes, and lacking still their wage. To write of women, and of womens falles, Who are too light, for to be fortunes balles.
Page 4 - ... and go sing of Love ; as well as our Brownists forsake the Church, and write of malice. And that this is a matter not so unfit for a man, either that respecteth himself, or is a Scholar ; peruse but the writings of former times : and you shall see, not only others in other countries, as Italy and France, Men of Learning and great parts to have written Poems and Sonnets of Love ; but even amongst us, men of best nobility and chiefest families to be the greatest Scholars and most renowned in this...
Page 47 - Sighs the blustering wind surpass, And wat'ry Tears, the drops of rain exceed, And if no Flame like mine nor is, nor was; Nor Grief like that whereon my soul doth feed: Relent, fair Licia! when my Sighs do blow: Yield at my Tears that flintlike drops consume: Accept the Flame!

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