Let some for honour hunt, and hoard the massy gold

What one art thou, thus in torn weed yclad? "Virtue, in price whom ancient sages had." Why poorly 'rayed? "For fading goods past care." Why double-faced? "I mark each fortune's fare." This bridle, what? "Mind's rages to restrain." Tools …

Among the Muses Nine a tenth if Jove would make, And to the Graces Three a fourth, her would Apollo take.

What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see, What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true love is to me! As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth exceed— As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth pass the evening’s weed— As …

For many blessèd gifts, O happy, happy land! Where Mars and Pallas strive to make their glory most to stand! Yet, land, more is thy bliss that, in this cruel age, A Venus’ imp thou hast brought forth, so steadfast and so sage.

But see! the pains begin to fly; Tho’ Venus bled she could not die: See the new phœnix point her eyes, And lovelier from her ashes rise.

Brighter from her disease she shines, As fire the precious gold refines. Thus when the silent grave becomes Pregnant with life as fruitful wombs; When the wide seas and spacious earth Resign us to our second birth;