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The other days and thou Make up one man; whose face thou art, Knocking at heaven with thy brow: The workydays are the back-part; The burden of the week lies there, Making the whole to stoop and bow, Till thy release appear.
Man had straightforward gone To endless death: but thou dost pull And turn us round, to look on One, Whom, if we were not very dull, We could not choose but look on still; Since there is no place so alone, The which He doth not fill.
Sundays the pillars are,
On which heaven's palace archèd lies:
Which parts their ranks and orders.
The Sundays of man's life,
More plentiful than hope.
This day my Saviour rose, And did enclose this light for His;
That, as each beast his manger knows,
The rest of our creation
Christ's hands, though nail'd, wrought our salvation,
And did unhinge that day.
The brightness of that day
Thou art a day of mirth:
And where the week-days trail on ground,
O let me take thee at the bound,
Sir John Suckling.
(From "The Ballad upon a Wedding.")
HER finger was so small, the ring
Would not stay on, which they did bring;
It was too wide, a peck;
And to say truth (for out it must),
About our young colt's neck.
Her feet beneath her petticoat,
As if they fear'd the light;
Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
(Who sees them is undone), For streaks of red were mingled there, Such as are on a Katherine pear,
The side that's next the sun.
Her lips were red, and one was thin
GATHER THE ROSE-BUDS.
ATHER rose-buds as ye may,
And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heav'n, the sun,
The age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Time still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
'HERRY ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones-come and buy; If so be you ask me where They do grow ?—I answer, There, Where my Julia's lips do smileThere's the land, or cherry-isle; Whose plantations fully show All the year where cherries grow.
FAIR daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon:
As yet the early-rising Sun
But to the even-song;
We have short time to stay, as you,
your hours do, and drv
Like to the Summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew Ne'er to be found again.
AIR pledges of a fruitful tree,
But you may stay yet here awhile
To blush and gently smile,