Pack, clouds, away! and welcome, day!
  With night we banish sorrow.
Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft
  To give my Love good-morrow!
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
  Notes from the lark I'll borrow:
Bird, prune thy wing!...

Ye little birds that sit and sing
  Amidst the shady valleys,
And see how Phillis sweetly walks
  Within her garden-alleys;
Go, pretty birds, about her bower;
Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower;
Ah me! methinks I see her frown!...

Love is the blossom where there blows
Every thing that lives or grows:
Love doth make the Heav'ns to move,
And the Sun doth burn in love:
Love the strong and weak doth yoke,
And makes the ivy climb the oak,
Under whose shadows lions wild,...

From “a Woman Killed with Kindness”
O GOD! O God! that it were possible
To undo things done; to call back yesterday!
That time could turn up his swift sandy glass,
To untell the days, and to redeem these hours!
            Or that the sun
Could,...

Pack clouds away, and welcome day,
  With night we banish sorrow;
Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft,
  To give my love good morrow.
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
  Notes from the lark I ’ll borrow:
Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale...

Mellifluous Shakespeare, whose enchanting quill
Commanded mirth or passion, was but Will;
And famous Jonson, though his learnèd pen
He dipped in Castaly, is still but Ben.
Fletcher and Webster, of that learnèd pack
None of the meanest, was but Jack;...

Give place, ye ladies, and begone,
Boast not yourselves at all:
For here at hand approacheth one
Whose face will stain you all.

The virtue of her lively looks
Excels the precious stone:
I wish to have none other books
To read or look upon...

Éljünk, Lesbia, és szeressük egymást,
és a mord öregek fecsegjenek csak,
hisz nem ér locsogásuk egy garast sem.
Eltűnvén a nap, újra felragyoghat:
egyszer tűnik a kurta fény szemünkből,
s álmunkból sosem ébredünk utána.
Adj hát csókot ezerszer, és ha...

Poet: Catullus

Megjött végre a várt szerelem, forr tőle a vérem,
bármit szól a világ, nem tagadom le ma már!
Meghallgatta dalom panaszos szavait Cytheréa,
és elküldte nekem rég keresett szeretőm.
Megtartotta szavát: örömöm kifecsegheti írigy
nyelvvel akárki, akit még ily öröm...

Poet: Sulpicia

Az asszonynép kit szeret?
Ki nyeri el kegyüket?
Aki szivük ismeri,
aki velük volt kicsi,
akinek a szava méz,
aki ifju és merész,
aki kezd és célba fut,
aki parancsolni tud,
aki, ha szól, szellemes,
aki hallgat s jellemes,
aki...