Consolatorium, Ad Parentes (William Strode Poems)
Lett her parents then confesse That they beleeve her happinesse, Which now they question. Thinke as you Lent her the ...
Lett her parents then confesse That they beleeve her happinesse, Which now they question. Thinke as you Lent her the ...
Looke how the russet morne exceeds the night, How sleekest Jett yields to the di'monds light, So farr the glory ...
Behold this little volume here inrolde: 'Tis the Almighty's present to the world: Hearken earth's earth; each sencelesse thing can ...
When men for injuryes unsatisfy'd, For hopes cutt off, for debts not fully payd, For legacies in vain expected, mourne ...
Though Death to good men be the greatest boone, I dare not think this Lady dyde so soone. She should ...
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