John Fletcher Poems

SING his praises that doth keep
   Our flocks from harm.
Pan, the father of our sheep;
   And arm in arm
...

HENCE, all you vain delights,
   As short as are the nights
   Wherein you spend your folly!
There 's naught in this life sweet,
...

Hence, all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly:
There's nought in this life sweet,
...

Oh, fair sweet face! oh, eyes, celestial bright,
Twin stars in heaven, that now adorn the night!
Oh, fruitful lips, where cherries ever grow,
And damask cheeks, where all sweet beauties blow!
...

Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain-tops that freeze,
Bow themselves when he did sing:
To his music plants and flowers
...

Oh, fair sweet goddess, queen of love,
Soft and gentle as thy doves,
Humble-eyed, and ever ruing
Those poor hearts, their loves pursuing!
...

LAY a garland on my herse
   Of the dismal yew;
Maidens, willow branches bear;
   Say, I died true.
...

Through yon same bending plain,
That flings his arms down to the main,
And through these thick woods have I run,
Whose bottom never kissed the sun
...

It is late and cold; stir up the fire;
Sit close, and draw the table nigher;
Be merry, and drink wine that's old,
A hearty medicine 'gainst a cold:
...

Orpheus I am, come from the deeps below,
To thee, fond man, the plagues of love to show.
To the fair fields where loves eternal dwell
There's none that come, but first they pass through hell:
...