#Renaissance #RhymedStanza
At court I met it, in clothes bra… To be a courtier, and looks grave… To seem a statesman: as I near it… It made me a great face. I asked… ‘A lord,’ it cried, ‘buried in fle…
A farewell for a Gentlewoman, ver… False world, good-night, since tho… That houre upon my morne of age, Hence-forth I quit thee from my t… My part is ended on thy stage.
Would you believe, when you this m… That his whole body should speak… That so much scarf of France, and… And shoe, and tie, and garter shou… And land on one whose face durst n…
From 'Cynthia’s Revels’ Queen and huntress, chaste and fai… Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair,
Wouldst thou hear what man can say In a little? Reader, stay. Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die; Which in life did harbor give
For love’s sake, kiss me once agai… I long, and should not beg in vain… Here’s none to spy or see; Why do you doubt or stay? I’ll taste as lightly as the bee
Queen and huntress, chaste and fai… Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light,
GENIUS. Time, Fate, and Fortune have at l… To give our Age the day so much d… What all the minutes, houres, week… That hang in file upon these silve…
Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time… Yet slower, yet, O faintly, gentl… List to the heavy part the music b… Woe weeps out her division, when s… Droop herbs and flowers;
Not to know vice at all, and keep… Is virtue and not fate: Next to that virtue, is to know vi… And her black spite expel. Which to effect (since no breast i…
Why do we lie ‘Why do we lie,’ she questioned, h… on the grey Autumn wind and its co… ‘all afternoon wasted in bed like… ‘Because we cannot lie all night t…
Lucy, you brightness of our sphere… Life of the Muses’ day, their mor… If works, not th’ author’s, their… Whose poems would not wish to be y… But these, desir’d by you, the mak…
Still to be neat, still to be dres… As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfum… Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art’s hid causes are not fo…
Come, my Celia, let us prove While we may the sports of love; Time will not be ours forever, He at length our good will sever. Spend not then his gifts in vain;
Do but consider this small dust Here running in the glass, By atoms moved; Could you believe that this The body was