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181 254 L. 9, cruels: worsteds. This lovely and pathetic little piece has
that idyllic sweetness and simplicity which Crashaw or Herbert
could not reach.

182 256 L. 3, paddocks: frogs. The tenderness of these lines re-
minds us of W. Blake's early work when writing of, or drawing,
children.

183 257 L. 13, artless: unskilful. Another piece remarkable for natural
expression and honesty. Nothing really proves Herrick's religious
sincerity more than the touches of humourous satire in stanzas
4 and 10.

$87 261 L. 11, candour: whiteness.

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Ah, Posthumus! our years hence fly

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All has been plunder'd from me but my wit
All things decay with time: The forest sees

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Along the dark and silent night

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Am I despised, because you say
Among the myrtles as I walk'd

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Among thy fancies, tell me this
-And, cruel maid, because I see

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Anthea, I am going hence.

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Anthea laugh'd, and, fearing lest excess

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As is your name, so is your comely face

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As Julia once a-slumb'ring lay

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As shews the air when with a rainbow graced

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Ask me why I send you here

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A sweet disorder in the

the dress

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A wearied pilgrim I have wander'd here

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Bacchus, let me drink no more

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Bad are the times. Sil. And worse than they are we

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Beauty no other thing is, than a beam.

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Be bold, my book, nor be abash'd, or fear

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Begin to charm, and as thou strok'st mine ears

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Charms, that call down the moon from out her sphere

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Come then, and like two doves with silvery wings

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Come thou, who art the wine and wit.

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Command the roof, great Genius, and from thence

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Dear, though to part it be a hell

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Dew sate on Julia's hair

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Down with the rosemary and bays.

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Down with the rosemary, and so

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Dread not the shackles; on with thine intent

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Drink wine, and live here blitheful while ye may

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First offer incense; then, thy field and meads
Fled are the frosts, and now the fields appear

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Get up, get up for shame! the blooming moru

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Good day, Mirtillo. Mirt. And to you no less

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Good morrow to the day so fair.

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Good things, that come of course, far less do please

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Here we are all by day; by night we're hurl'd

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How rich and pleasing thou, my Julia, art

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90 INDEX OF FIRST LINES Now is the time for mirth.

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I ask'd thee oft what poets thou hast read

I bring ye love. Ques. What will love do?

I call, I call: who do ye call?

I could but see thee yesterday

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I dare not ask a kiss

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I'll write no more of love, but now repent

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Immortal clothing I put on

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In all thy need, be thou possest

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In numbers, and but these few.

In man, ambition is the common'st thing

In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part

In sober mornings, do not thou rehearse.

In the hour of my distress

In this world, the Isle of Dreams

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers

Is this a life, to break thy sleep

I will confess.

Julia, if I chance to die.

Kindle the Christmas brand, and then

Knew'st thou one month would take thy life away

Laid out for dead, let thy last kindness be.

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Let fair or foul my mistress be .

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Let others to the printing-press run fast

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Let us, though late, at last, my Silvia, wed
Let's live in haste; use pleasures while we may

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Let's now take our time

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Life is the body's light; which, once declining
Life of my life, take not so soon thy flight.

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Live by thy Muse thou shalt, when others die

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Man is a watch, wound up at first, but never

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Man is composed here of a twofold part.

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Man knows where first he ships himself; but he .

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Man may want land to live in; but for all.

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Men say you're fair; and fair ye are, 'tis true

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Music, thou queen of heaven, care-charming spell

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Now is the time when all the lights wax dim

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No man such rare parts hath, that he can swim

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No news of navies burnt at seas

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Nothing comes free-cost here; Jove will not let

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No wrath of men, or rage of seas

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O earth! earth! earth! hear thou my voice, and be
One night i' th' year, my dearest beauties, come

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One silent night of late.

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Ponder my words, if so that any be

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Praise, they that will, times past: I joy to see

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Since to the country first I came

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So Good-luck came, and on my roof did light

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Thou shalt not all die for while Love's fire shines

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Three lovely sisters working were

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Thrice, and above blest, iny soul's half, art thou

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Till I shall come again, let this suffice

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