Anonymous - Results found: 46
I'll sooner expect mercy from a Usurer when my Bond's forfeited, sooner kindness from a Lawyer when my money's spent: nay, sooner charity from the Devil, then good from a Puritan. I'll look for Relief from him, when Lucifer is restor’d to his blood, & in Heaven again.
By Captain Idle,
in The Puritan Widow (TLN444-449),
Anonymous
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 77
Where ere
Ancora, Handmaid of the sun, Where Ere
the sun, bright Guardian of the day,
Where ere the joyful day with cheerful light
illuminates the world, The Trojans glory flies
with Golden wings
By Corin,
in Locrine (TLN88-92),
Anonymous
in Bodleian Library MS Sancroft 29, p. 77
She steals and robs
each part
of the world with borrowed beauties
to inflame thy eye · the sea to fetch her pearls is
dived into · the diamond rocks are cut to make
her shine, to plume her pride the birds do naked sing:
By Petronius,
in The Tragedy of Nero (1.1.17-21),
Anonymous
in Folger MS V.a.87, f. 10r
Somewhat these arbors and you trees do know
Whilst your kind shades, you to these night sports sho w
Night sports? faith they are done in open day
And the sun seeth and envieth their play
By Petronius,
in The Tragedy of Nero (2.1.6-9),
Anonymous
in Folger MS V.a.87, f. 10r
Who, now, will to my burning kisses stoop · now
with an easy cruelty deny that, which she ·
rather than the asker would have forced from /
then begins herself
their loves that list upon great ladies set
I still will love the wench that I can get
By Petronius,
in The Tragedy of Nero (2.1.92-98),
Anonymous
in Folger MS V.a.87, f. 10r
Let me lay my weariness in these armes, nothing but kisses speak, my thoughts be compassed in those circles eyes, eyes on no object
look but on those cheeks, be blest my hands
with touch of those round breasts whiter and
softer than the down of swans:
let me of thee and of thy beauty's glory
An endless tell but never wearying story
By Nimphidius,
in The Tragedy of Nero (3.1.73-79),
Anonymous
in Folger MS V.a.87, f. 10r
I oft have walked by Tiber's flowing banks
and heard the swan sing her own epitaph
When shee heard
me she held her peace
and died: let others raise from earthly
things their praise heaven hath stood still
to hear her happy airs and ceased th'eternal
music of the spheres to mark her voice and
mend their tune by hers:
By Nero,
in The Tragedy of Nero (3.2.42-48),
Anonymous
in Folger MS V.a.87, f. 10r