SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT
For Prayer the ocean is where diversely
Men steer their course, each to a sev'ral coast;
Where all our interests so discordant be
That half beg winds by which the rest are lost.
By Penitence when we ourselves forsake, 'Tis but in wise design on piteous Heaven,
In Praise we nobly give what God may take, And are, without a beggar's blush, forgiven.
EDMUND WALLER A A ^
On a Gtrdle
THAT which her slender waist confined Shall now my joyful temples bind, No monarch but would give his crown His arms might do what this has done.
It was my Heaven's extremcst sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer: My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move.
A narrow compass 1 and yet there Give me but what this ribband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round '
Goy lovely Rose
GO, lovely Rose Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.
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