And air-like leave no pression to be seen where'er they met, or parting place has been.
Buying, possessing, accumulating ? this is not worldliness. But doing this in the love of it, with no love of God paramount ? doing it so that thoughts of eternity and God are an intrusion ? doing it so that one's spirit is secularized in the process; this is worldliness.
Get up, sweet Slug-a-bed, and see the dew bespangling herb and tree.
Here a little child I stand, heaving up my either hand;
In that whiter Island, where things are evermore sincere; candor here, and lustre there delighting:
Love is maintain'd by wealth: when all is spent, Adversity then breeds the discontent.
O time that cut'st down all! And scarce leav'st here Memoriall of any men that were.
Some ask'd how pearls did grow, and where, Then spoke I to my girle, To part her lips, and showed them there The quarelets of pearl.
Then this immensive cup of aromatic wine, Catullus, I quaff up To that terse muse of thine.
To the Virgins, To Make much of Time - Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, old time is still a-flying; and this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, the higher he?s a-getting, the sooner will his race be run, and nearer he is to setting. That age is best which is the first, when youth and blood are warmer; but being spent, the worse, and worst times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, and while you may, go marry; for having lost but once your prime, you may forever tarry.
When the rose reigns, and locks with ointments shine, let rigid Cato read these lines of mine.
And found (ah me!) this flesh of mine more like a stock than like a vine.
By time and council do the best we can: The event is never in the power of man.
Give her strewings, but not stir the earth that lightly covers her.
Here a pretty Baby lies sung asleep with Lullabies: Pray be silent, and not stirre th' easie earth that covers her.
In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
Love me little, love me long, is the burden of my song:
Oft have I heard both youths and virgins say, Birds chuse their mates and couple too this day: But by their flight I never can devine When I shall couple with my valentine.
Some asked me where the rubies grew, and nothing I did say; but with my finger pointed to the lips of Julia.
Then this immensive cup of aromatic wine, Catullus, I quaff up to that terse muse of thine.
Trust to good Verses, then; they onley will aspire, when Pyramids, as men, are lost, i?th? funerall fire.
When the tempter me pursueth with the sins of all my youth, and half damns me with untruth,
And to your more bewitching, see the proud, plump bed bear up, and swelling like a cloud, tempting the two too modest; can ye see it brustle like a swan, and you be cold to meet it when it woos and seems to fold the arms to hug you? Throw, throw yourselves into the mighty overflow of that white pride, and drown the night with you in floods of down.
Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, full and fair ones; come and buy! If so be you ask me where they do grow, I answer, there, where my Julia's lips do smile; there's the land, or cherry-isle.
Give, if thou canst, an alms; if not, afford, instead of that, a sweet and gentle word.