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Angels bear beſt better bleſſed bloud breath bring canſt Chriſt Church creatures dead dear death delight divine door doth earth ev'n ev'ry eyes face faith fall fear firſt foul fruit gain give glory Gods grace grief ground grow hand hath head hear heart heaven himſelf holy honour hope houſe joyes keep King leave leſs light live look Lord Maſter mean mind moſt muſt never night once peace pleaſure poor praiſe Prayer preſent raiſe reſt riſe rule ſay ſee ſeek ſerve ſhall ſhe ſhould ſin ſome ſoul ſtars ſtill ſuch ſweet tears thee theſe thine things thoſe thou art thou doſt thou haſt thoughts thy ſelf true turn unto uſe whoſe wilt wind
Page 91 - Each creature hath a wisdom for his good. The pigeons feed their tender offspring crying, When they are callow ; but withdraw their food, When they are fledged, that need may teach them flying.
Page 91 - Sir, said she, Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then Money came, and chinking still, What tune is this, poor man ? said he : I heard in Music you had skill...
Page 72 - 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.
Page 146 - Into thy face, Thou art grown fair and full of grace, Much in request, much sought for as a good. For we do now behold thee gay and glad, As at doomsday, When souls shall wear their new array, And all thy bones with beauty shall be clad.
Page 145 - Will not grow bright and clean. A servant with this clause Makes drudgery divine: Who sweeps a room, as for Thy laws, Makes that and the action fine. This is the famous stone That turneth all to gold : For that which God doth touch and own Cannot for less be told.
Page 119 - The Collar I struck the board, and cry'd, No more. I will abroad. What? shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free; free as the rode, Loose as the winde, as large as store. Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me bloud, and not restore What I have lost with cordiall fruit? Sure there was wine...
Page 22 - I straight return'd, and, knowing his great birth, Sought him accordingly in great resorts ; In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, and courts : At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth Of theeves and murderers : there I him espied, "Who straight Your suit is granted, said, and died.