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Affliction Angels bear beft better bleffed bloud bring Chrift Church dead dear death delight divine door doth duft earth ev'n ev'ry eyes face faith fall fame fear feek fhall fhew fhould fight fince firft flower fome forrow foul fruit ftill fuch fweet gain give glory Gods grace grief ground grow hand hath head hear heart heav'n heaven holy honour hope joyes keep King leave light live loft look Lord mean mind moft mufick muft never night once peace pleaſure poor praife praiſe Prayer rife rule tears thee thefe theſe thine things thofe thoſe thou art thou doft thoughts thy felf true turn unto uſe whofe wilt wind
Page 91 - Each creature hath a wisdom for his good. The pigeons feed their tender offspring crying, When they are callow ; but withdraw their food, When they are fledged, that need may teach them flying.
Page 91 - Sir, said she, Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then Money came, and chinking still, What tune is this, poor man ? said he : I heard in Music you had skill...
Page 72 - The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.
Page 148 - Into thy face, Thou art grown fair and full of grace, Much in request, much sought for as a good. For we do now behold thee gay and glad, As at doomsday, When souls shall wear their new array, And all thy bones with beauty shall be clad.
Page 147 - Will not grow bright and clean. A servant with this clause Makes drudgery divine: Who sweeps a room, as for Thy laws, Makes that and the action fine. This is the famous stone That turneth all to gold : For that which God doth touch and own Cannot for less be told.
Page 119 - The Collar I struck the board, and cry'd, No more. I will abroad. What? shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free; free as the rode, Loose as the winde, as large as store. Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me bloud, and not restore What I have lost with cordiall fruit? Sure there was wine...
Page 22 - I straight return'd, and, knowing his great birth, Sought him accordingly in great resorts ; In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, and courts : At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth Of theeves and murderers : there I him espied, "Who straight Your suit is granted, said, and died.