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But time strips our illusions of their hue,
And one by one in turn some grand mistake
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But time strips our illusions of their hue,
And one by one in turn some grand mistake
Casts off its bright skin yearly like a snake.
But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') shrink,
Like Arno in the summer, to a shallow.
But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') shrink,
Like Arno in the summer, to a shallow.
But who would scorn the month of June,
Because December with his breath so hoary,
Must come? read more
But who would scorn the month of June,
Because December with his breath so hoary,
Must come? Much rather should he court the ray,
To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.
Heresie is the school of pride.
Heresie is the school of pride.
In good yeares corne is hay, in ill yeares straw is corne.
In good yeares corne is hay, in ill yeares straw is corne.
An ill labourer quarrells with his tooles.
An ill labourer quarrells with his tooles.
Come, let us take our fill of love until the morning: let us
solace ourselves with loves.
For read more
Come, let us take our fill of love until the morning: let us
solace ourselves with loves.
For the goodman is not at home, he is gone a long journey.
That least pleases us which is most urged on us.
That least pleases us which is most urged on us.
