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art thou aster besore blood brave breast breath bring canst Christ Church comsort consess dark poems dear death delight divine door doth drest dust earth ev'n ev'ry eyes fhew thyfelf flesh give glory God's grace grief gries griess grow hand hath heart heav'n Herbert himsels holy itsels Kdse King lest let thy light lise live look Lord lute mend mind mirth mysels night once persect pleasure poor posy resuse sace sacrisice sall saults Saviour sear seel shew shine sigh sill sine sing sins sire sirst slesh soes soolish sor thee sorce sorm sorrows sorth soul sree sriend sruit stars stuss sure sweet tears thefe Theresore thine things thou art thou didst thou dost thou hast thou wilt thoughts thro thy love thy praise thysels truth no beauty tuili unto weep wind words
Page 97 - LIFE. I MADE a posy, while the day ran by : Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band.
Page xix - ... and competent maintenance. - So that now if they do not well, the fault cannot be charged on you, whose example and care of them will justify you both to the world and your own conscience...
Page 90 - 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 59 - O let me, when thy roof my soul hath hid, O let me roost and nestle there : Then of a sinner thou art rid, And I of hope and fear. Yet take thy way ; for sure thy way is best : Stretch or contract me thy poor debtor : This is but tuning of my breast, To make the music better.
Page 13 - THOU, whose sweet youth and early hopes enhance Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure, Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance Rhyme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure : A verse may find him, who a Sermon flies, And turn delight into a Sacrifice.
Page 130 - Not, that he may not here Taste of the cheer : But as birds drink, and straight lift up their head ; So must he sip, and think Of better drink He may attain to, after he is dead.
Page 144 - Just as I went, None goes that way And lives. If that be all, said I, After so foul a journey death is fair, And but a chair.
Page 78 - Christ hath took in this piece of ground, And made a garden there for those Who want herbs for their wound.