Goe, soule, the bodie’s guest,
Upon a thanklesse arrant;
Feare not to touche the best—
The truth shall be thy warrant;
Goe, since I needs must dye,
And give the world the lye.
Goe tell the court it glowes
And shines like...
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IT is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make man better be;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear:
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May,
Although it fall and die that...
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From “An Hymne in Honor of Beautie”
SO every spirit, as it is most pure,
And hath in it the more of heavenly light,
So it the fairer bodie doth procure
To habit in, and it more fairly dight
With cheerfull grace and amiable sight;
For of the soule...
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From “As You Like It,” Act II. Sc. 2.
ADAM.—Let me be your servant;
Though I look old, yet am I strong and lusty:
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of...
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Before I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe,
Great Love, some legacies: here I bequeathe
Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see,
If they be blind, then, Love, I give them thee;
My tongue to Fame, to embassadors my ears;
To women, or the sea, my...
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My minde to me a kingdom is;
Such perfect joy therein I finde
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse
That God or nature hath assignde;
Though much I want that most would have,
Yet still my minde forbids to crave.
Content I live; this is my stay...
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When all is done and said, in the end this shall you find:
He most of all doth bathe in bliss that hath a quiet mind;
And, clear from worldly cares, to dream can be content
The sweetest time in all this life in thinking to be spent.
The body subject is to fickle...
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From “Astrophel and Stella”
LOVING in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain,—
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,—
I sought...
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From “Amoretti.” Sonnet LXXV.
ONE day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves, and washèd it away:
Agayne, I wrote it with a second hand;
But came the tyde, and made my paynes his prey.
Vayne man, say’d she, that doest in vayne assay...
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For why, who writes such histories as these
Doth often bring the reader’s heart such ease,
As when they sit and see what he doth note,
Well fare his heart, say they, this book that wrote!
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