Still to be powdered, still perfumed:
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art’s hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all the adulteries of art;
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
Similar Posts
Come, my Celia, let us prove
Time will not be ours forever,He at length our good will sever.Spend not then his gifts in vain;Suns that set may rise again,But if once we lose this light,‘Tis with us perpetual night.Why should we defer our joys?Fame and rumour are but toys.Cannot we delude the eyesOf a few poor household spies?Or his easier ears…
Come, leave the loathed stage,
Where pride and impudence, in faction knit,Usurp the chair of wit!Indicting and arraigning every daySomething they call a play.Let their fastidious, vainCommission of the brainRun on and rage, sweat, censure, and condemn;They were not made for thee, less thou for them.Say that thou pour’st them wheat,And they will acorns eat;‘Twere simple fury still thyself to…
And must I sing? What subject shall I choose!
For the more countenance to my active muse?Hercules? alas, his bones are yet soreWith his old earthly labours t’ exact moreOf his dull godhead were sin. I’ll implorePhoebus. No, tend thy cart still. Envious dayShall not give out that I have made thee stay,And foundered thy hot team, to tune my lay.Nor will I beg…
On the happy entrace of Iames, our Soveraigne, to His first high Session of Parliament in this his Kingdome, the 19 of March, 1603.
Mart.Heav’n now not strives, alone, our breasts to fillWith joyes: but urgeth his full favors still.Againe, the glory of our Westerne WorldUnfolds himselfe: and from his eyes are hoorl’d(To day) a thousand radiant lights, that streameTo every nook and angle of his Realme.His former rayes did only cleare the sky;But these his searching beams are…
I love, and he loves me again,
For if the nymphs should know my swain,I fear they’d love him too;Yet if he be not known,The pleasure is as good as none,For that’s a narrow joy is but our own.I’ll tell, that if they be not glad,They may not envy me;But then if I grow jealous madAnd of them pitied be,It were a…
I that have been a lover, and could show it,
Since I exscribe your sonnets, am becomeA better lover, and much better poet.Nor is my Muse, or I ashamed to owe itTo those true numerous graces; whereof someBut charm the senses, others overcomeBoth brains and hearts; and mine now best do know it:For in your verse all Cupid’s armory,His flames, his shafts, his quiver, and…
Still to be powdered, still perfumed:
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art’s hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free;
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all th’ adulteries of art:
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
Similar Posts
The long laments I spent for ruin’d Troy,
No more shall men suppose Electra dead,Though from the consort of her sisters fledUnto the Artick circle, here to grace,And gild this day with her serenest face:And see, my daughter Iris hastes to throwHer roseat wings in compasse of a bow,About our State, as signe of my approach:Attracting to her seate from Mithras coach,A thousand…
A farewell for a Gentlewoman, vertuous and noble
That houre upon my morne of age,Hence-forth I quit thee from my thought,My part is ended on thy stage.Doe not once hope, that thou canst temptA spirit so resolv’d to treadUpon thy throat, and live exemptFrom all the nets that thou canst spread.I know thy formes are studied arts,Thy subtill wayes, be narrow straits;Thy curtesie…
Descended to the shore, odd how we left
straight to examine the stratified cliffs,forgot her entirely in our interest.You marvelled at the shapes the clockwork seahad worn the stone, talking keenly, untilthe pace of this random sculpture recalledyour age to you, and then its anodynes.And so you turned, pretending youth, courtingthe girl as if you were a boy again,leaving the wry cliffs to…
And must I sing? what subject shall I chuse?
For the more countenance to my active Muse?Hercules? alas his bones are yet sore,With his old earthly labours. T’exact more,Of his dull god-head, were sinne. Ile implorePhoebus? No. tend thy cart still. Envious dayShall not give out, that I have made thee stay,And foundred thy hot teame, to tune my lay.Nor will I begge of…
In all faith, we did our part:
ejected promptly,and swam in the approved mannerin the appropriate direction;did all instinctive things well,even eagerly—an exemplary start.But then the barrier: unexpectednessunexpectedly.(They did not tell us this).To go back impossible, unnatural:so round; many times;we tired ourselves.Where were the promised homes,embedded in the soft wall?Or the anticipated achievementso momentous, fulfilling?So we died:what else was there to do?But…
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Seated in thy silver chairState in wonted manner keep:Hesperus entreats thy light,Goddess excellently bright.Earth, let not thy envious shadeDare itself to interpose;Cynthia’s shining orb was madeHeaven to clear when day did close:Bless us then with wished sight,Goddess excellently bright.Lay thy bow of pearl apartAnd thy crystal-shining quiver;Give unto the flying hartSpace to breathe, how short…