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Anon awake Ben Jonson BIRDS IN SPRING Blame breath of great-eyed bright brow Christmas Christmas pie compared to Thee compared with Thee daffodils delights doth draw E. M. Wimperis earth Edmund Spenser eyes fair Samela find'st flocks flowers garlands give glory grace great-eyed kine greenwood tree hath heart heaven heaven's gate hither ICICLES HANG James Shirley Julian Portch kiss lark light live look love's lovely rose LOVES SERVILE LOT Lute merry Michael Drayton mind mirth morn NEAT never night pale Philomel Phineas Fletcher pipe play poor Prithee QUEEN OF BOHEMIA quiet sleep reply RISING AND PRAYER Robert Herrick sing SONG SONNET sorrow soul spare SUNDAY sweet and fair sweet content Sweet day Tell things thou art thou dost Thou go'st Thou hast thy Thy presence toss'd Tu-whoo tunes unto wakes warbling wassail weep what's Whitsun ale William Shakespeare wool young sinner Youth
Page 51 - Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast ; Still to be powdered, still perfumed : Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace : Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me, Than all the adulteries of art ; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
Page 38 - When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Page 41 - Tell wit how much it wrangles In tickle points of niceness : Tell wisdom she entangles Herself in over-wiseness : And when they do reply, Straight give them both the lie.
Page 36 - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When...
Page 38 - Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither — soon forgotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, — All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy Love.
Page 36 - Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
Page 13 - Moon, thou climb'st the skies; How silently, and with how wan a face; What, may it be that even in...
Page 61 - We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring ! As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing.
Page 40 - Say to the court, it glows And shines like rotten wood; Say to the church, it shows What's good, and doth no good: If church and court reply, Then give them both the lie. Tell potentates, they live Acting by others' action, Not loved unless they give, Not strong but by affection.
Page 46 - SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, 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...