He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck into a second yoke.
It is an active flame that fliesFirst to the babies in the eyes.
Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
Fair daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon: As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained his noon.
Our present tears here, not our present laughter Are but the handsells of our joys hereafter.
Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old.
Then be not coy, but use your time; And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.
T is the will that makes the action good or ill.
Here a pretty Baby lies Sung asleep with Lullabies: Pray be silent, and not stirre The easie earth that covers her.
We credit most our sight; one eye doth please Our trust farre more than ten eare-witnesses.
Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
The body is the soul's poor house or home, whose ribs the laths are and whose flesh the loam.
O thou, the drink of gods and angels! Wine
When the tempter me pursueth With the sins of all my youth, And half damns me with untruth, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free, O how that glittering taketh me!
So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade; All love, all liking, all delight Lies drowned with us in endless night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying; Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying.
In sober mornings do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse
Let my muse Fail of thy former helps, and only use Her inadulterate strength. What's done by me Hereafter shall smell of the lamp, not thee.
Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen To come forth, like the springtime, fresh and green
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a flying: And this same flower that smiles to day, Tomorrow will be dying.
No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
Oft have I heard both youths and virgins say, Birds chuse their mates and couple too this day: But by their flight I never can devine When I shall couple with my valentine.
Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine.
Learn this of me, where'er thy lot doth fall, Short lot, or not, to be content with all.
Hast thou attempted greatnesse? Then go on; Back-turning slackens resolution.
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