Come, ponder well, for ’tis no jes… To laugh it would be wrong; The troubles of a worthy priest The burden of my song. This priest he merry is and blithe

Airy del Castro was as bold a kni… As ever earned a lady’s love in fi… Many he sought, but one above the… His tender heart victoriously impr… In fairy land was born the matchle…

The swallows in their torpid state Compose their useless wing, And bees in hives as idly wait The call of early spring. The keenest frost that binds the s…

If John marries Mary, and Mary a… ’Tis a very good match between Ma… Should John wed a score, oh, the… It can’t be a match:—’tis a bundle…

Ah! wherefore should my weeping ma… Those gentle signs of undissembled… When from soft love proceeds the d… Ah, why forbid the willing tears t… Since for my sake each dear transl…

Could Homer come himself, distres… And tune his harp at Rhedicina’s… The rich old vixen would exclaim,… ‘Begone! no tramper gets a farthin…

SCENE I.—CHORUS OF ANGEL… Now let us garlands weave Of all the fairest flowers, Now at this early dawn, For new-made man, and his companio…

It flatters and deceives thy view, This mirror of ill-polish’d ore; For, were it just, and told thee t… Thou wouldst consult it never more…

Rich, thou hadst many lovers—poor,… So surely want extinguishes the fl… And she who call’d thee once her p… And her Adonis, now inquires thy… Where wast thou born, Socicrates,…

I wish thy lot, now bad, still wor… For when at worst, they say, thing…

I thirst, but not as once I did, The vain delights of earth to shar… Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid That I should seek my pleasures t… It was the sight of Thy dear cros…

O thou, by long experience tried, Near whom no grief can long abide; My love! how full of sweet content I pass my years of banishment! All scenes alike engaging prove

My halting Muse, that dragg’st by… Thy slow, slow step, in melancholy… And lik’st that pace expressive of… Not less than Diopeia’s sprightli… When in the dance she beats with m…

‘Ere God had built the mountains, Or raised the fruitful hills; Before he fill’d the fountains That feed the running rills; In me from everlasting,

Hear, Lord, the song of praise an… In heaven thy dwelling-place, From infants, made the public care… And taught to seek thy face! Thanks for thy word and for thy da…