"Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning. His last word was, 'Love–' 'Love, my child, love, love!'–(then he had done with grief) 'Love, my child.' Ere I answered he was gone, And none was left to love in all the world."

"Popery is such a thing as cannot, but for want of a word to express it, be called a religion; nor is it to be mentioned with that civility which is otherwise decent to be used in speaking about the differences of human opinion about divine matters...There has now for divers years a design been carried on, to change the lawful government of England into an absolute tyranny, and to convert the established Protestant religion into downright Popery...If under his present Majesty we have as yet seen no more visible effects of the same spirit than the firing of London...it is not to be attributed to the good nature or better principles of that sect, but to the wisdom of his Holiness, who observes that we are not of late so dangerous Protestants as to deserve any special mark of his indignation, but that we may be made better use of to the wrecking of those that are of our religion, and that if he do not disturb us, there are those amongst ourselves that are leading us into a fair way of reconciliation with him."

"Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness; The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds, and other seas; Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade."

"What wondrous life in this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass."

"Society is all but rude, To this delicious solitude."

"In busy companies of men."

"Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life: Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run."

"Now therefore while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapped power."

"Thy beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble vault shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long preserved virginity, And your quaint honor turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace."

"But at my back I always hear Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity."

"An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart."

"I would Love you ten years before the Flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires and more slow."

"Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, Lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day."

"So much one man can do, That does both act and know."

"But bowed his comely head Down as upon a bed."

"He nothing common did or mean Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try."

"...the inglorious arts of peace..."

"This indigested vomit of the Sea, Fell to the Dutch by Just Propriety."

"To make a bank was a great plot of state; Invent a shovel, and be a magistrate."

"No creature loves an empty space; Their bodies measure out their place."

"The world in all doth but two nations bear — The good, the bad; and these mixed everywhere."

"She with her eyes my heart does bind, She with her voice might captivate my mind."

"How fit is he to sway That can so well obey ("Horatian Ode," 83-84),"

"Gather the flowers, but spare the buds."

"Art indeed is long, but life is short."

"While thus he threw his Elbow round, Depopulating all the Ground, And, with his whistling Sythe, does cut Each stroke between the Earth and Root, The edged Stele by careless chance Did into his own Ankle glance; And there among the Grass fell down, by his own Sythe, the Mower mown."

"How should I avoid to be her slave, Whose subtle art invisibly can wreath My fetters of the very air I breath?"

"Ye living lamps, by whose dear light The nightingale does sit so late And studying all the summer night Her matchless songs does meditate;Ye country comets, that portend No war, nor prince's funeral, Shining unto no higher end Than to presage the grasses's fall;Ye glow-worms whose officious flame To wandering mowers shows the way, That in the night have lost their aim And after foolish fires do stray;Your courteous lights in vain you waste, Since juliana here is come, For she my mind hath so displaced That I shall never find my home."

"And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time."

"Orange bright, Like golden lamps in a green light."

"Where the remote Bermudas ride, In th' ocean's bosom unespied."

"Therefore the love which us doth bind, But Fate so enviously debars, Is the conjunction of the mind, And opposition of the stars."

"As lines, so loves oblique may well Themselves in every angle greet; But ours so truly parallel, Though infinite, can never meet."

"Love's whole world on us doth wheel."

"My love is of a birth as rare As 'tis for object strange and high; It was begotten by Despair Upon Impossibility."

"Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide."

"Throw no gyft agayne at the geuers head, For better is halfe a lofe than no bread."

"Enough is as good as a feast."

"Went in at the tone eare and out at the tother."

"The wrong sow by th' eare."

"Who is so deafe or so blinde as is hee That wilfully will neither heare nor see?"

"It will not out of the flesh that is bred in the bone."

"I know on which side my bread is buttred."

"The moone is made of a greene cheese."

"Be the day never so long, Evermore at last they ring to evensong."

"It is better to be An old man's derling than a yong man's werling."

"To th' end of a shot and beginning of a fray."

"The moe the merrier."

"Set the cart before the horse."

"He must needes goe whom the devill doth drive."