Then let thy active hand scud o’er thy lyre,
And make my spirits frantic with the fire;
That done, sink down into a silvery strain,
And make me smooth as balm and oil again.
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Be not proud, but now incline
You have changes in your life,Sometimes peace, and sometimes strife;You have ebbs of face and flows,As your health or comes or goes;You have hopes, and doubts, and fears,Numberless as are your hairs;You have pulses that do beatHigh, and passions less of heat;You are young, but must be old:–And, to these, ye must be told,Time, ere…
Down with the rosemary and bays,
Instead of holly, now up-raiseThe greener box, for show.The holly hitherto did sway;Let box now domineer,Until the dancing Easter-day,Or Easter’s eve appear.Then youthful box, which now hath graceYour houses to renew,Grown old, surrender must his placeUnto the crisped yew.When yew is out, then birch comes in,And many flowers beside,Both of a fresh and fragrant kin,To…
Three lovely sisters working were,
Of soft and dainty maiden-hair,A curious Armilet.I, smiling, ask’d them what they did,Fair Destinies all three?Who told me they had drawn a threadOf life, and ’twas for me.They shew’d me then how fine ’twas spunAnd I replied thereto;‘I care not now how soon ’tis done,Or cut, if cut by you.’
A sweet disorder in the dress
A lawn about the shoulders thrownInto a fine distraction;An erring lace, which here and thereEnthrals the crimson stomacher;A cuff neglectful, and therebyRibbons to flow confusedly;A winning wave, deserving note,In the tempestuous petticoat;A careless shoe-string, in whose tieI see a wild civility;–Do more bewitch me, than when artIs too precise in every part.
Love, like a gipsy, lately came,
To see my hand, that by the sameHe might foretell my fortune.He saw my palm; and then, said he,I tell thee, by this score here,That thou, within few months, shalt beThe youthful Prince D’Amour here.I smiled, and bade him once more prove,And by some cross-line show it,That I could ne’er be Prince of Love,Though here…