John Fletcher (1579 – 1625)
Jacobean playwright.
Go far—too far you cannot, still the farther
The more experience finds you: And go sparing;—
One meal a week will serve you, and one suit,
Through all your travels; for you'll find it certain,
The poorer and the baser you appear,
The more you look through still.
There is no jesting with edge tools.
Then, everlasting Love, restrain thy will;
'Tis god-like to have power, but not to kill.
Drink today, and drown all sorrow;
You shall perhaps not do't tomorrow.
Let no man fear to die : We love to sleep all,
And death is but the sounder sleep.
Whistle, and she'll come to you.
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that's gone;
Violets plucked, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.
Look babies in your eyes, my pretty sweet one.
I'll put a spoke among your wheels.
Lie lightly on my ashes, gentle earthe.
Corruption is a tree, whose branches are
Of an immeasurable length: they spread
Ev'rywhere; and the dew that drops from thence
Hath infected some chairs and stools of authority.
That place that does contain
My books, the best companions, is to me
A glorious court, where hourly I converse
With the old sages and philosophers;
And sometimes, for variety, I confer
With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels.
Come, sing now, sing; for I know you sing well;
I see you have a singing face.
Oh, woman, perfect woman! what distraction
Was meant to mankind when thou wast made a devil!
What an inviting hell invented.
Three merry boys, and three merry boys,
And three merry boys are we.
As ever did sing in a hempen string
Under the gallows tree.
This is a pretty flimflam.
As high as Heaven, as deep as Hell.