"No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, No arborett with painted blossoms drest And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd."

"O happy earth, Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread!"

"Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease, And layes the soul to sleepe in quiet grave? Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas, Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please."

"That darksome cave they enter, where they find That cursed man, low sitting on the ground, Musing full sadly in his sullein mind."

"Entire affection hateth nicer hands."

"As when in Cymbrian plaine An heard of bulles, whom kindly rage doth sting, Doe for the milky mothers want complaine, And fill the fieldes with troublous bellowing."

"Ay me, how many perils doe enfold The righteous man, to make him daily fall!"

"As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place."

"A bold bad man, that dar'd to call by name Great Gorgon, Prince of darknesse and dead night."

"The noblest mind the best contentment has."

"But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad; Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad."

"A Gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine."

"Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my song."

"For all that faire is, is by nature good; That is a signe to know the gentle blood."

"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 fairely dight With cheerful grace and amiable sight: For of the soule the bodie forme doth take; For the soule is forme, and doth the bodie make."

"That beauty is not, as fond men misdeem, An outward shew of things, that only seem."

"At length they all to mery London came, To mery London, my most kindly Nurse, That to me gave this lifes first native sourse."

"So purely white they were, That even the gentle streame, the which them bare, Seem’d foule to them, and bad his billowes spare To wet their silken feathers, least they might Soyle their fair plumes with water not so fayre, And mar their beauties bright, That shone as heavens light."

"With that I saw two swans of goodly hue Come softly swimming down along the Lee: Two fairer birds I yet did never see; The snow which doth the top of Pindus strow Did never whiter show, Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be For love of Leda, whiter did appear."

"There, in a Meadow, by the Rivers side, A flocke of Nymphes I chaunced to espy, All lovely Daughters of the Flood thereby, With goodly greenish locks all loose untyde, As each had bene a Bryde."

"Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song."

"Calm was the day, and through the trembling air Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play— A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair."

"Song made in lieu of many ornaments, With which my love should duly have bene dect."

"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."

"Ah, when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love?"

"Behold, whiles she before the altar stands, Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes, And blesseth her with his two happy hands."

"Open the temple gates unto my love, Open them wide that she may enter in."

"One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away: Agayne I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray. Vayne man, sayd she, that doest in vaine assay, A mortall thing so to immortalize. For I my selve shall lyke to this decay, And eek my name bee wyped out lykewize. Not so, (quod I) let baser things devize, To dy in dust, but you shall live by fame: My verse your vertues rare shall eternize, And in the hevens wryte your glorious name. Where whenas death shall all the world subdew, Our love shall live, and later life renew."

"Make hast therefore sweet love, whilest it is prime, For none can call againe the passed time."

"Tell her the joyous Time will not be staid, Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take."

"Fresh spring the herald of loves mighty king, In whose cote armour richly are displayd All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring In goodly colours gloriously arrayd."

"So let us love, deare Love, lyke as we ought; Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught."

"Most glorious Lord of lyfe that on this day, Didst make thy triumph over death and sin: And, having harrowd hell, didst bring away, Captivity thence captive, us to win."

"What then can move her? if nor merth, nor mone, She is no woman, but a sencelesse stone."

"Of this worlds theatre in which we stay, My love lyke the spectator ydly sits Beholding me that all the pageants play, Disguysing diversly my troubled wits. Sometimes I joy when glad occasion fits, And mask in myrth lyke to a comedy: Soone after when my joy to sorrow flits, I waile and make my woes a tragedy."

"Fondnesse it were for any being free, To covet fetters, though they golden bee."

"The merry cuckow, messenger of spring His trompet shrill hath thrise already sounded."

"The rolling wheel, that runneth often round, The hardest steel in tract of time doth tear; And drizzling drops, that often do redound, The firmest flint doth in continuance wear: Yet cannot I, with many a dropping tear, And long entreaty, soften her hard heart, That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to hear, Or look with pity on my painful smart: But when I plead, she bids me play my part; And when I weep, she says, "Tears are but water"; And when I sigh, she says, "I know the art"; And when I wail, she turns herself to laughter; So do I weep and wail, and plead in vain, Whiles she as steel and flint doth still remain."

"See how the tyrannesse doth joy to see The huge massacres which her eyes do make."

"I learned have, not to despise, What ever thing seemes small in common eyes."

"Full little knowest thou that hast not tride, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To loose good dayes, that might be better spent; To wast long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow. . . . . . . . . . To fret thy soule with crosses and with cares; To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dispaires; To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to ronne, To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne. Unhappie wight, borne to desastrous end, That doth his life in so long tendance spend!"

"Of such deep learning little had he neede, Ne yet of Latine, ne of Greeke, that breede Doubts mongst Divines, and difference of texts, From whence arise diversitie of sects, And hatefull heresies."

"For deeds do die, however nobly done, And thoughts of men do as themselves decay; But wise words, taught in numbers for to run, Recorded by the Muses, live for aye; Nor may with storming showers be washed away; Nor bitter-breathing winds, with harmful blast, Nor age, nor envy, shall them ever waste."

"All, that in this world is great or gay, Doth as a vapour vanish, and decay."

"What more felicitie can fall to creature Than to enjoy delight with libertie, And to be lord of all the workes of Nature, To raine in th' aire from earth to highest skie, To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature."