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beauty bring Chor comes comfort crown'd dead doth drink ears eyes fair fall fancy fear feast fire flowers fresh give gone grace grow hair hand hear heart hence Herrick I'll Julia keep kiss known late leave less lies light lines lips live look lost lyrical maids meat meet Mirt mirth MISTRESS nature ne'er never night numbers once piece pity play pleasure poetry poets poor rare rest roses round Saint seas seen short sing sleep smiling soft song soon Spirit spring stand stay sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thou hast thou shalt tree true unto verse virgins weep wine write youth
Página 51 - Ah BEN! Say how, or when Shall we thy guests Meet at those lyric feasts, Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun ? Where we such clusters had, As made us nobly wild, not mad ; And yet each verse of thine Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
Página 96 - Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee, And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
Página 134 - TO BLOSSOMS. Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past ; But you may stay yet here awhile, To blush and gently smile, And go at last.
Página 109 - DELIGHT IN DISORDER A SWEET disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness: A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction, An erring lace, which here and there Enthralls the crimson stomacher, A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbands to flow confusedly, A winning wave (deserving note) In the tempestuous petticoat, A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility, Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part.
Página 21 - Come, my Corinna, come ; and coming, mark How each field turns a street : each street a Park Made green, and trimm'd with trees : see how Devotion gives each House a Bough, Or Branch : Each Porch, each door, ere this, An Ark a Tabernacle is Made up of white-thorn neatly enterwove ; As if here were those cooler shades of love.
Página 20 - Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted colours through the air: Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see 5 The dew bespangling herb and tree!
Página 146 - TO MEADOWS YE have been fresh and green, Ye have been fill'd with flowers, And ye the walks have been Where maids have spent their hours.
Página 120 - Twill not be long, Perilla, after this, That I must give thee the supremest...
Página 114 - To Dianeme. SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes, Which, star-like, sparkle in their skies ; Nor be you proud that you can see All hearts your captives, yours yet free ; Be you not proud of that rich hair, Which wantons with the love-sick air ; When as that ruby which you wear, Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, Will last to be a precious stone, When all your world of beauty's gone.