Short Poems

Love is a circle, that doth restless move
In the same sweet eternity of Love.

In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part
Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.

True mirth resides not in the smiling skin;
The sweetest solace is to act no sin.

Every time seems short to be
That's measured by felicity;
But one half-hour that's made up here
With grief, seems longer than a year.

While fates permit us, let's be merry;
Pass all we must the fatal ferry;
And this our life, too, whirls away,
With the rotation of the day.

Drink wine, and live here blitheful while ye may;
The morrow's life too late is; Live to-day.

If little labour, little are our gains;
Man's fortunes are according to his pains.

Man may want land to live in; but for all
Nature finds out some place for burial.

Dread not the shackles; on with thine intent,
Good wits get more fame by their punishment.

Twixt truth and error, there's this difference known
Error is fruitful, truth is only one.