A little saint best fits a little shrine, / A little prop best fits a little vine, / As my small cruse best fits my little wine. |
A master of a house, as I have read, must be the first man up and the last in bed |
A sweet disorder in the dress, kindles in clothes a wantonness |
A winning wave (deserving note) / In the tempestuous petticoat: / A careless shoe-string, in whose tie / I see a wild civility: / Do more bewitch me than when art / Is too precise in every part. |
And once more yet (ere I am laid out dead) Knock at a star with my exalted head |
Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt. Nothing's so hard but search will find it out. |
Bid me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be; Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee. A heart as soft, a heart as kind, A heart as sound and free As in the whole world thou canst find, That heart I'll give to thee. Bid that heart stay, and it will stay To honour thy decree; Or bid it languish quite away, And't shall do so for thee. Bid me to weep, and I will weep, While I have eyes to see; And having none, yet I will keep A heart to weep for thee. Bid me despair, and I'll despair, Under that cypress tree; Or bid me die, and I will dare E'en death, to die for thee. --Thou art my life, my love, my heart, The very eyes of me; And hast command of every part, To live and die for thee. |
Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee. |
Bid me to weep, and I will weep, / While I have eyes to see. |
Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry / Full and fair ones; come and buy; / If so be, you ask me where / They do grow? I answer there, / Where my Julia's lips do smile; / There's the land, or cherry-isle. |
Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end. |
Each must in virtue strive for to excel ; That man lives twice that lives the first life well |
Fain would I kiss my Julia's dainty leg, / Which is as white and hairless as an egg. |
Fair daffodils, we weep to see / You haste away so soon: / As yet the early-rising sun / Has not attained his noon. |
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, / Why do ye fall so fast? |