Short Poems

Shift now has cast his clothes: got all things new;
Save but his hat, and that he cannot mew.

She wept upon her cheeks, and weeping so,
She seem'd to quench loves fires that there did glow.

Of all our parts, the eyes expresse
The sweetest kind of bashfulnesse.

Love bade me aske a gift,
And I no more did move,
But this, that I might shift
Still with my clothes, my Love:
That favour granted was;
Since which, though I love many,
Yet so it comes to passe,
That long I love not any.

The strength of Baptisme, that's within;
It saves the soule, by drowning sin.

Give unto all, lest he, whom thou deni'st,
May chance to be no other man, but Christ.

Adverse and prosperous Fortunes both work on
Here, for the righteous mans salvation:
Be he oppos'd, or be he not withstood,
All serve to th'Augmentation of his good.

The seeds of Treason choake up as they spring,
He Acts the Crime, that gives it Cherishing.

Think of dress in every light
'Tis woman's chiefest duty;
Neglecting that, ourselves we slight
And undervalue beauty.
That allures the lover's eye,
And graces every action;
Besides, when not a creature's by,
'Tis inward satisfaction.

In fairyland the little boys
Would rather fight than eat their meals.
They like to chase a gauze-winged fly
And catch and beat him till he squeals.
Sometimes they come to sleeping men
Armed with the deadly red-rose thorn,
And those that feel its fearful wound
Repent the day that they were born.