28 quotes
I care not for these ladies,
That must be wooed and prayed;
Give me kind Amaryllis,
The wanton country maid.
Nature art disdaineth;
Her beauty is her own.
A Book of Ayres (1601)
Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee,
When the ev'ning beams are set?
The Third and Fourth Bookes of Ayres (1617)
Hark, all you ladies that do sleep;
The fairy Queen Proserpina
Bids you awake and pity them that weep.
A Book of Ayres (1601)
Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee,
That she in peace may wake and pity me.
The Third and Fourth Bookes of Ayres (1617)
Follow your Saint, follow with accents sweet;
Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet.
A Book of Ayres (1601)
Good thoughts his only friends,
His wealth a well-spent age,
The earth his sober inn
And quiet pilgrimage.
A Book of Ayres (1601)
The man of life upright,
Whose guiltless heart is free
From all dishonest deeds
Or thought of vanity.
A Book of Ayres (1601)
Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly;
To every day we live, a day we die.
Soul is the Man: for who will so
The body name?
And to that power all grace we owe
That decks our living frame.
Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore,
Never tired pilgrim's limbs affected slumber more.
Two Bookes of Ayres (1613)
Roses red, Lillies white,
And the cleare damaske hue,
Shall on your cheekes alight:
Loue will adorne you.
Kind are her answers,
But her performance keeps no day;
Breaks time, as dancers
From their own Music when they stray.
The Third and Fourth Bookes of Ayres (1617)
Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow,
Though thou be black as night,
And she made all of light,
Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow.
A Book of Ayres (1601)
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow.
The Third and Fourth Bookes of Ayres (1617)
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;
There cherries grow that none may buy,
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
The Third and Fourth Bookes of Ayres (1617)
Sleep, angry beauty, sleep, and fear not me.
For who a sleeping lion dares provoke?
The Third and Fourth Bookes of Ayres (1617)
What then is love but mourning?
What desire, but a self-burning?
Till she that hates doth love return,
Thus will I mourn, thus will I sing,
"Come away, come away, my darling."
A Book of Ayres (1601)
He only can behold
With unaffrighted eyes
The horrors of the deep
And terrors of the skies.
A Book of Ayres (1601)
Lovely forms do flow
From conceit divinely framed;
Heaven is music, and thy beauty's
Birth is heavenly.
Observations in the Art of English Poesie (1602)
Rose-cheeked Laura, come;
Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty’s
Silent music, either other
Sweetly gracing.
Observations in the Art of English Poesie (1602)