THOMAS CAMPION

Never love unless you can bear with all the faults of man!

Beauty is not beauty without love.

Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly; to every day we live, a day we die.

Kind are her answers, But her performance keeps no day; Breaks time, as dancers. From their own Music when they stray.

Fain would I wed a fair young man that night and day could please me, When my mind or body grieved that had the power to ease me. Maids are full of longing thoughtsthat breed a bloodless sickness, And that, oft I hear men say, is only cured by quickness.

A prudent pharmacist often vends something for your complaint. But wine merchant you do this invariably.

Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.

From heav'nly thoughts all true delight doth spring.

Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.

Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly; to every day we live, a day we die.

From heav'nly thoughts all true delight doth spring.

Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow.

Kind are her answers, But her performance keeps no day; Breaks time, as dancers. From their own Music when they stray.

Fain would I wed a fair young man that night and day could please me, When my mind or body grieved that had the power to ease me. Maids are full of longing thoughtsthat breed a bloodless sickness, And that, oft I hear men say, is only cured by quickness.

A prudent pharmacist often vends something for your complaint. But wine merchant you do this invariably.

Never love unless you can bear with all the faults of man!

Beauty is not beauty without love.

My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love, And though the sager sort our deeds reprove, Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do dive Into their west, and straight again revive, But soon as once set is our little light, Then must we sleep one ever-during night. See Catullus 200:5.

Let now the chimneys blaze And cups o’erflow with wine... The summer hath his joys, And winter his delights; Though love and all his pleasures are but toys, They shorten tedious nights.

Let now the chimneys blaze And cups o'erflow with wine; Let well-tuned words amaze With harmony divine.

The man whose silent daysIn harmless joys are spent,Whom hopes cannot delude,Nor sorrow discontent:That man needs neither towersNor armour for defence,Nor secret vaults to flyFrom thunder's violence.

All our pride is but a jest. None are worst and none are best. Grief and hope and joy and fear Play their pageant everywhere.

Yet I would not die a maid, because I had a mother, As I was by one brought forth, I would bring forth another.