Sir Walter Raleigh

Sir Walter Raleigh

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Sir Walter Raleigh (c. 1552 (or 1554) – 29 October 1618), also spelled Ralegh, was an English landed gentleman, writer, poet, soldier, politician, courtier, spy and explorer.
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Prais'd be Diana's fair and harmless light; Prais'd be the dews wherewith she moists the ground; Prais'd be her beams, the glory of the night; Prais'd be her power by which all powers abound
Prais'd be her nymphs with whom she decks the woods...
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The Artist and his Luckless Wife They lead a horrid haunted life, Surrounded by the things he's made That are not wanted by the trade
The world is very fair to see; The Artist will not let it be; He fiddles with the works of God, And makes th...
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Attend my words, my gentle knave, And you shall learn from me How boys at dinner may behave With due propriety
Guard well your hands: two things have been Unfitly used by some; The trencher for a tambourine, The table for a drum
We could...
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IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy Love
But Time drives flocks from field to fold;
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When I am safely laid away, Out of work and out of play, Sheltered by the kindly ground From the world of sight and sound, One or two of those I leave Will remember me and grieve, Thinking how I made them gay By the things I used to say; — But the...
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If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every Shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy love
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Farewell, false love, the oracle of lies,
A mortal foe and enemy to rest,
An envious boy, from whom all cares arise,
A bastard vile, a beast with rage possessed,
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NG not, sweet empress of my heart, The merit of true passion,
With thinking that he feels no smart, That sues for no compassion
Silence in love bewrays more woe Than words, though ne'er so witty:
A beggar that is dumb, you know, May...
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EN such is Time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with earth and dust;   Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wander'd all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days;
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Now Serena be not coy,
Since we freely may enjoy Sweet embraces, such delights,
As will shorten tedious nights
Think that beauty will not stay With you always, but away,
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Now what is Love,
I pray thee, tell
It is that fountain and that
Where pleasure and repentance dwell;
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NS are liken'd best to floods and streams:
The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb;
So, when affection yields discourse, it seems The bottom is but shallow whence they come
They that are rich in words, in words discover That they ...
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Go, soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall be thy warrant:
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Nature, that washed her hands in milk,
And had forgot to dry them,
Instead of earth took snow and silk,
At love's request to try them,
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To Griggs, that learned man, in many a bygone session,     His kids were his delight, and physics his profession;     Now Griggs, grown old and glum, and less intent on knowledge,     Physics himself at home, and sends his kids to college
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What is our life
A play of passion,
Our mirth the music of division,
Our mother's wombs the tiring-houses be,
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