7 quotes
Her brest like to a bowle of creame uncrudded,
Her paps lyke lyllies budded.
Epithalamion (1595)
Song made in lieu of many ornaments,
With which my love should duly have bene dect.
Epithalamion (1595)
Open the temple gates unto my love,
Open them wide that she may enter in.
Epithalamion (1595)
Behold, whiles she before the altar stands,
Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes,
And blesseth her with his two happy hands.
Epithalamion (1595)
Ah, when will this long weary day have end,
And lende me leave to come unto my love?
Epithalamion (1595)
Wake now my loue, awake; for it is time,
The Rosy Morne long since left Tithones bed,
All ready to her siluer coche to clyme,
And Phœbus gins to shew his glorious hed.
Epithalamion (1595)
Ne let the Pouke, nor other evill sprights,
Ne let mischievous witches with their charmes,
Ne let hob goblins, names whose sence we see not,
Fray us with things that be not.
Epithalamion (1595)