Musarum Deliciae: Or, the Muses Recreation, Contening Severall Pieces of Poetique Wit by Sr. J.M. and Ja : S. 1656, المجلد 2

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John Camden, 1817

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الصفحة 414 - Her lips were red; and one was thin Compared to that was next her chin, Some bee had stung it newly: But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face, I durst no more upon them gaze Than on the sun in July. Her mouth so small, when she does speak Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break That they might passage get; But she so handled still the matter They came as good as ours, or better, And are not spent a whit.
الصفحة 472 - Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times, still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time; And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.
الصفحة 456 - Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired ; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee ; How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair.
الصفحة 413 - Her finger was so small the ring Would not stay on, which they did bring; It was too wide a peck: And to say truth (for out it must), It looked like the great collar, just, About our young colt's neck. Her feet beneath her petticoat, Like little mice stole in and out, As if they feared the light...
الصفحة 332 - Love is a torment of the mind, A tempest everlasting ; And Jove hath made it of a kind Not well, nor full, nor fasting. Why so...
الصفحة 412 - twould undo him Should he go still so drest. At Course-a-park, without all doubt, He should have first been taken out By all the maids i' th' town: Though lusty Roger there had been, Or little George upon the green, Or Vincent of the Crown. But wot you what? The youth was going To make an end of all his wooing; The parson for him...
الصفحة 413 - Her feet beneath her petticoat, Like little mice stole in and out, As if they feared the light. But oh ! she dances such a way, No sun upon an Easter day Is half so fine a sight.
الصفحة 414 - Her lips were red, and one was thin ; Compared to that was next her chin, Some bee had stung it newly ; But Dick, her eyes so guard her face, I durst no more upon them gaze, Than on the sun in July.
الصفحة 446 - Your banish'd servant trouble you ; For if I break, you may mistrust The vow I made — to love you too.
الصفحة 324 - I wish her store Of worth may leave her poor Of wishes; and I wish — no more. Now, if Time knows That Her, whose radiant brows Weave them a garland of my vows; Her...

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