“Go and catch a falling star,Get with child a mandrake root,Tell me where all past years are,Or who cleft the Devil's foot,Teach me to hear mermaids singing,Or to keep off envy's stinging, And find What windServes to advance an honest mind.If thou be'st born to strange sights,Things invisible to see,Ride ten thousand days and nights,Till Age snow white hairs on thee,Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,All strange wonders that befell thee, And swear, No whereLives a woman true and fair.”

“SongGo, and catch a falling star,Get with child a mandrake root,Tell me, where all past years are,Or who cleft the Devil’s foot,Teach me to hear mermaids singing,Or to keep off envy’s stinging,And findWhat windServes to advance an honest mind.If thou be’est born to strange sights,Things invisible to see,Ride ten thousand days and nights,Till age snow white hairs on thee,Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell meAll strange wonders that befell thee,And swearNowhereLives a woman true, and fair.If thou find’st one, let me know,Such a pilgrimage were sweet,Yet do not, I would not go,Though at next door we might meet,Though she were true when you met her,And last, till you write your letter,Yet sheWill beFalse, ere I come, to two, or three.”

“Death Be Not ProudDeath, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,And soonest our best men with thee do go,Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,And better than thy stroke ; why swell'st thou then?One short sleep past, we wake eternally,And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.”

“Mark but this flea, and mark in this, How little that which thou deniest me is; Me it sucked first, and now sucks thee, And in this flea our two bloods mingled be; Thou know’st that this cannot be said A sin, or shame, or loss of maidenhead, Yet this enjoys before it woo, And pampered swells with one blood made of two, And this, alas, is more than we would do. Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare, Where we almost, nay more than married are. This flea is you and I, and this Our mariage bed and mariage temple is; Though parents grudge, and you, we are met, And cloisterd in these living walls of jet. Though use make you apt to kill me, Let not to that, self-murder added be, And sacrilege, three sins in killing three. Cruel and sudden, hast thou since Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence? Wherein could this flea guilty be, Except in that drop which it sucked from thee? Yet thou triumph’st, and say'st that thou Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now; ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be: Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me, Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.”

“Busie olde foole, unruly Sunne; Why dost thou thus,Through windowes, and through curtaines call on us?Must to they motions lovers seasons run? Sawcy pedantique wretch, goe chide Late schoole boyes, and sowre prentices, Goe tell Court-huntsmen, that the King will ride, Call countrey ands to harvest offices;Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clyme,Nor houres, dayes, months, which are the rags of time. Thy beames, so reverend, and strong Why shouldst thou thinke?I could eclipse and cloud them with a winke,But that I would not lose her sight so long: If her eyes have not blinded thine Looke, and tomorrow late, tell mee, Whether both the India's of spice and Myne Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with mee.Aske for those Kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,And thou shalt heare, All here in one bed lay. She'is all States, and all Princes, I, Nothing else is; Princes doe but play us; compar'd to this,All honor's mimique; All wealth alchimie, Thou sunne art halfe as happy'as wee, In that the world's contracted thus; Thine ages askes ease, and since thy duties bee To warme the world, that's done in warming us.Shine here to us, and thou art every where;This bed thy center is, these walls, thy spheare.”

“Death be not proud, though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so.”

“O! I shall soon despair, when I shall seeThat Thou lovest mankind well, yet wilt not choose me,And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me.”