“Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.— Her lips suck forth my soul; see where it flies...”

“Was this the face that launched a thousand ships/And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?”

“Make me immortal with a kiss.”

“In summers heate and mid-time of the dayTo rest my limbes upon a bed I lay,One window shut, the other open stood,Which gave such light as twinkles in a wood,Like twilight glimpse at setting of the Sunne,Or night being past, and yet not day begunne.Such light to shamefast maidens must be showne,Where they may sport, and seeme to be unknowne.Then came Corinna in a long loose gowne,Her white neck hid with tresses hanging downe,Resembling fayre Semiramis going to bed,Or Layis of a thousand lovers sped.I snatcht her gowne: being thin, the harme was small,Yet strived she to be covered therewithall.And striving thus as one that would be cast,Betrayde her selfe, and yeelded at the last.Starke naked as she stood before mine eye,Not one wen in her body could I spie.What armes and shoulders did I touch and see,How apt her breasts were to be prest by me.How smooth a belly under her wast saw I,How large a legge, and what a lustie thigh?To leave the rest, all liked me passing well,I clinged her naked body, downe she fell,Judge you the rest, being tirde she bad me kisse;Jove send me more such after-noones as this.”

“That like I best that flies beyond my reach.Set me to scale the high pyramids And thereon set the diadem of France;I'll either rend it with my nails to nought,Or mount the top with my aspiring wings,Although my downfall be the deepest hell.”

“My father is deceast, come Gaveston,'And share the kingdom with thy deerest friend.'Ah words that make me surfet with delight:What greater blisse can hap to Gaveston,Then live and be the favorit of a king?Sweete prince I come, these these thy amorous lines,Might have enforst me to have swum from France,And like Leander gaspt upon the sande,So thou wouldst smile and take me in thy armes.The sight of London to my exiled eyes,Is as Elizium to a new come soule.Not that I love the citie or the men,But that it harbors him I hold so deare,The king, upon whose bosome let me die,And with the world be still at enmitie:What neede the artick people love star-light,To whom the sunne shines both by day and night.Farewell base stooping to the lordly peeres,My knee shall bowe to none but to the king.As for the multitude that are but sparkes,Rakt up in embers of their povertie,Tanti: Ile fawne first on the winde,That glaunceth at my lips and flieth away: ....”

“I am Envy, begotten of a chimney-sweeper and an oyster-wife. I cannot read, and therefore wish all books were burnt; I am lean with seeing others eat - O that there would come a famine through all the world, that all might die, and I live alone; then thou should'st see how fat I would be! But must thou sit and I stand? Come down, with a vengeance!”