Could we forbear dispute, and practise love, We should agree as angels do above.

To love is to believe, to hope, to know; Tis an essay, a taste of Heaven below!

Go, lovely rose! Tell her that wastes her time and me That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.

His love at once and dread instruct our thought; As man He suffer’d and as God He taught.

Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv’d our yoke.

Virtue’s a stronger guard than brass.

A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that ’s good, and all that ’s fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.

That eagle’s fate and mine are one, Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high.

Fade, flowers, fade! Nature will have it so; ’tis but what we in our autumn do.

The chain that’s fixed to the throne of Jove, On which the fabric of our world depends, One link dissolved, the whole creation ends.