Who forms a godhead out of gold or stone

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may

As lately I a garland bound

Ye have been fresh and green

Fair daffodils, we weep to see

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree

Shut not so soon; the dull-ey'd night

James I., King (1566-1625)

As I was pansing in a morning aire
We find by proof, that into every age

God gives not kings the stile of Gods in vaine

Jones, Robert

And is it night? are they thine eyes that shine?
Soft, Cupid, soft, there is no haste

The sea hath many thousand sands

Lovelace, Richard (1618-1658)

Tell me not, (sweet,) I am unkinde

Lucasta wept, and still the bright

Thou snowy

Oh, stay that covetous hand; first turn all

eye

94

95

95

97

98

farme with thy five tenements Oh thou, that swing'st upon the waving care Sing out, pent soules, sing cheerfully

When love with unconfinèd wings

Middleton, Thomas (1570?-1627)

Happy times we live to see

12

Milton, John (1608-1674)

Now the bright Morning Star, day's harbinger

104

O'er the smooth enamelled green

104

105

106

Nymphs and shepherds, dance no more
By the rushy fringed bank

O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray

Nabbes, Thomas (1612?—)
What though with figures I should raise

Quarles, Francis (1592-1664)

Know then, my brethren, heaven is clear
What, Cupid, are thy shafts already made?
False world, thou ly'st; thou canst not lend
My heart! but wherefore do I call thee so

106

89

77

79

79

81

Look not, my watch, being once repair'd, to stand 82 Believe her not, her glass diffuses

What need that house be daub'd with flesh and blood?

Sandys, George (1577-1643)

The Muse who from your influence took her birth
Chaste Nymph, you who extracted are
Thou brought'st me home in safety, that this earth

Shirley, James (1594-1666)

You virgins, that did late despair

82

84

23

24

24

101

Victorious men of earth, no more
The glories of our blood and state

Suckling, Sir John (1609-1641)

I tell thee, Dick, where I have been
One of her hands one of her cheeks lay under
Dost see how unregarded now

The little boy, to show his might and power
Hast thou seen the down in the air

I am a man of war and might
Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Out upon it, I have loved
I prithee send me back my heart
There's one request I make to Him
Vauter, Thomas
Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight

Wither, George (1588-1667)

Shall I, wasting in despair

Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes.

Amaryllis I did woo

Lordly gallants, tell me this

Hence, away, thou Siren, leave me

Farewell, sweet groves, to you

THE

TABLE

or,

Index to first Lines

A

About the sweet bag of a bee (Herrick)
Amaryllis I did woo (Wither)

And is it night? are they thine eyes that shine?
(Jones)

As I was pansing in a morning aire (King James I.)
As Julia once a-slumbering lay (Herrick)
Ask me no more where Jooe bestows (Carew)
As lately I a garland bound (Herrick)
A sweet disorder in the dress (Herrick)

B

Be fixed, you rapid Orbs, that bear (Caret)
Believe her not, her glass diffuses (Quarles)

By the rushy fringèd bank (Milton)

C

Chaste Nymph, you who extracted are (Sandys) 24 Chloe, why wish you that your years (Cartwright)

Close thine eyes, and sleep secure (King Charles

1.)

75

22

Come! Come away! the Spring (Richard Brome) 100

D

ost see how unregarded now (Suckling)

Dost

67

F

Fair daffodils, we weep to see (Herrick)
Fair mistress of the Earth, with garlands crown'd
(Habington)

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree (Herrick)

False world, thou ly'st; thou canst not lend (Quarles)

Farewell, fair Saint! may not the sea and wind
(Carew)

Farewell, sweet groves, to you (Wither)
Fate's now grown merciful to men (Carew)
Fayre stood the winde for France (Drayton)

G

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may (Herrick) God gives not kings the stile of Gods in vaine (King James I.)

Great, good, and just, could I but rate (Grahame) 27 Great Monarch of the world, from whose power springs (King Charles I.)

H

Hail sister Springs (Crashaw)

Happy times we live to see (Middleton) Harden now thy tired heart with more than flinty rage (Campion)

Hark, how my Celia, with the choice (Carew)
Hast thou seen the down in the air (Suckling)
Hence, away, thou Siren, leave me (Wither)
He that loves a rosy check (Carew)

19