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appear bear beſt better bleſſed blood breaſt breath bring canſt Church dead dear death delight door doth duſt e'en earth eyes face Faith fall fear fire firſt fleſh flowers give glory grace grief grow hand hath head hear heart heaven himſelf holy hope hour keep King leave leſs light live look Lord loſt mind moſt move muſic muſt never night once pleaſure poor praiſe raiſe reſt rich riſe ſay ſee ſeek ſerve ſet ſhall ſhe ſhine ſhould ſhow ſin ſince ſome ſoul ſtand ſtars ſtay ſtill ſtone ſuch ſweet tears tell thee theſe thine things thoſe thou art thou didſt thou doſt thou haſt thoughts thyſelf true turn unto uſe whoſe wilt wind
Page 203 - I aspire To a full consent. Not a word or look I affect to own, But by book, And thy book alone. Though I fail, I weep : Though I halt in pace, Yet I creep To the throne of grace.
Page 118 - Sir, said she, Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then Money came, and chinking still, What tune is this, poor man ? said he : I heard in Music you had skill...
Page 228 - My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee, Wherewith whole shoals of Martyrs once did burn, Besides their other flames ? Doth Poetry Wear Venus' livery ? only serve her turn ? Why are not Sonnets made of thee ? and lays Upon thine altar burnt ? Cannot thy love Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise As well as any she ? Cannot thy Dove Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight...
Page 98 - LIFE. I MADE a posy, while the day ran by : Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band.
Page 172 - Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. Away; take heed: I will abroad. Call in thy death's head there: tie up thy fears. He that forbears To suit and serve his need, Deserves his load.
Page 171 - I STRUCK the board and cried, " No more ! I will abroad. What, shall I ever sigh and pine ? My lines and life are free ; free as the road, Loose as the wind, as large as store. Shall I be still in suit ? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me blood, and not restore What I have lost with cordial fruit ? Sure there was wine Before my sighs did dry it : there was corn Before my tears did drown it. Is the year only lost to me ? Have I no...
Page 82 - A better lodging, than a rack, or grave. THE shepherds sing ; and shall I silent be ? My God, no hymn for thee ? My soul's a shepherd too ; a flock it feeds Of thoughts, and words, and deeds. The pasture is thy word ; the streams, thy grace Enriching all the place. Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers Out-sing the daylight hours.
Page 91 - ... Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie. My music shows ye have your closes. And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives ; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.
Page 1 - THOU, whose sweet youth and early hopes enhance Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure, Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance Rhyme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure : A verse may find him, who a Sermon flies, And turn delight into a Sacrifice.