Richard Brathwait Poems

A crabbed Shrow through sicknes weakly brought,
Wish't by all meanes a Doctor might be sought,
Who by his Art that hee her griefe might know,
...

Let not mishap deprive you of that hope
Which yields some relish to your discontent;
Ayme your affections at Heaven's glorious scope,
Which shovvres downe comfort, when all comfort's spent:
...

Death is a raw-bon'd shrimp, nor low nor hie,
Yet haz he power to make the highest low ;
The summon-maister of mortalitie,
The poore man's wished friend, the rich man's foe,
...

Coridon:
Ho! jolly Thirsis, whither in such haste ?
Is't for a wager that you run so fast ?
Or, past your howre, belowe yon hawthorne-tree
...