Puslapio vaizdai
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They may weep out the stains by them did rise:

Those doors being shut, all by the ear comes in.

Who marks in church-time other symmetry,

Makes all their beauty his deformity.

Let vain or busy thoughts have there no part:

Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasure thither

Christ purged the temple; so must thou thy heart.

All worldly thoughts are but these met together

To cozen thee. Look to thy actions well:

For churches either are our heaven or hell.

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BOSOM SIN.

SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright,

LORD, with what care hast thou be- The bridal of the earth and sky;

girt us round!

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The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave

Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou must die.

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and

roses.

A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to
coal,
Then chiefly lives.

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Which wrapt thy smooth limbs when thou didst implore

The gods' protection, but the night before;

Follow me weeping to my turf, and there

Let fall a primrose, and with it a tear.

Then lastly, let some weekly strewings be

Devoted to the memory of me; Then shall my ghost not walk about, but keep

Still in the cool and silent shades of sleep.

THE PRIMROSE.

Ask me why I send you here
This sweet infanta of the year?
Ask me why I send to you
This primrose, thus bepearled with
dew?

I will whisper to your ears,

The sweets of love are mixed with

tears.

Ask me why this flower does show So yellow green and sickly too? Ask me why the stalk is weak And bending, yet it doth not break? I will answer, these discover What fainting hopes are in a lover.

THREE EPITAPHS.
UPON A CHILD

HERE she lies, a pretty bud,
Lately made of flesh and blood;
Who so soon fell fast asleep
As her little eyes did peep.
Give her strewings, but not stir,
The earth that lightly covers her!

UPON A CHILD.

VIRGINS promised when I died,
That they would, each primrose-tide,
Duly morn and evening come,
And with flowers dress my tomb:
Having promised, pay your debts,
Maids, and here strew violets.

UPON A MAID.

HERE she lies, in beds of spice,
Fair as Eve in paradise;
For her beauty it was such,
Poets could not praise too much.
Virgins, come, and in a ring
Her supremest requiem sing;
Then depart, but see ye tread
Lightly, lightly o'er the dead.

HOW THE HEART'S EASE FIRST САМЕ.

FROLIC virgins once these were,
Over-loving, living here;

Being here their ends denied,
Ran for sweethearts mad and died.
Love, in pity of their tears,

And their loss of blooming years,
For their restless here-spent hours,
Gave them heart's-ease turned to
flowers.

LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. IN the hour of my distress When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When I lie within my bed,
Sick at heart, and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drowned in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but of his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When his potion and his pill,
His or none or little skill,
Meet for nothing, but to kill -

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

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