“Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it,For that your self ye daily such doe see:But the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit,And vertuous mind, is much more praysd of me.For all the rest, how ever fayre it be,Shall turne to nought and loose that glorious hew:But onely that is permanent and freeFrom frayle corruption, that doth flesh ensew.That is true beautie: that doth argue youTo be divine and borne of heavenly seed:Deriv'd from that fayre Spirit, from whom al trueAnd perfect beauty did at first proceed.He onely fayre, and what he fayre hath made,All other fayre lyke flowres untymely fade.”

“Spring, spring! Bytuene Mershe ant Averil, when spray biginneth to spring! When shaws be sheene and swards full fayre, and leaves both large and longe! When the hounds of spring are on winter’s traces, in the spring time, the only pretty ring time, when the birds do sing, hey-ding-a-ding ding, cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-wee, ta-witta-woo! And so on and so on and so on. See almost any poet between the Bronze Age and 1805.”

“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.”

“What is your substance, whereof are you made,That millions of strange shadows on you tend?Since everyone hath every one, one shade,And you, but one, can every shadow lend.Describe Adonis, and the counterfeitIs poorly imitated after you.On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set,And you in Grecian tires are painted new.Speak of the spring and foison of the year;The one doth shadow of your beauty show,The other as your bounty doth appear,And you in every blessèd shape we know.In all external grace you have some part,But you like none, none you, for constant heart.”

“Free, dost thou call thyself? Thy ruling thought would I hear of, and not that thou hast escaped from a yoke.Art thou one ENTITLED to escape from a yoke? Many a one hath cast away his final worth when he hath cast away his servitude.Free from what? What doth that matter to Zarathustra! Clearly, however, shall thine eye show unto me: free FOR WHAT?”

“He who doth not smoke hath either known no great griefs, or refuseth himself the softest consolation, next to that which comes from heaven.”