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Fair stood the wind for France, When we our sails advance, Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry; (Michael Drayton (1563-1631), British poet. Agincourt (l. 1-4). . . Family Book of Best Loved Poems, The. David L. George, ed. (1952) Doubleday & Company.)
Dear, why should you command me to my rest, When now the night doth summon all to sleep? Methinks this time becometh lovers best; Night was ordained together friends to keep. How happy are all other living things, Which though the day disjoin by several flight, The quiet evening yet together brings, And each returns unto his love at night. (Michael Drayton (1563-1631), British poet. Idea (sonnet-11, l. 1-8). . . Oxford Book of Sixteenth Century Verse, The. E. K. Chambers, comp. (1932) Oxford University Press.)
Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, From death to life thou mightst him yet recover. (Michael Drayton (1563-1631), British poet. Idea (sonnet 10, l. 13-14). . . Anchor Anthology of Sixteenth-Century Verse, The. Richard S. Sylvester, ed. (1974) Doubleday Anchor Books.)
An evil spirit, your beauty, haunts me still, Wherewith, alas! I have been long possessed, (Michael Drayton (1563-1631), British poet. Idea (sonnet 9, l. 1-2). . . Oxford Book of Sixteenth Century Verse, The. E. K. Chambers, comp. (1932) Oxford University Press.)
Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part; Nay, I have done, you get no more of me, And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart That thus so cleanly I myself can free; Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. (Michael Drayton (1563-1631), British poet. Idea (sonnet 15, l. 1-8). . . Oxford Book of Sixteenth Century Verse, The. E. K. Chambers, comp. (1932) Oxford University Press.)
How many paltry, foolish, painted things That now in coaches trouble every street Shall be forgotten, whom no poet sings, Ere they be well wrapped in their winding-sheet! (Michael Drayton (1563-1631), British poet. Idea (sonnet 14, l. 1-4). . . Oxford Book of Sixteenth Century Verse, The. E. K. Chambers, comp. (1932) Oxford University Press.)
No far-fetched sigh shall ever wound my breast, Love from mine eye a tear shall never wring, Nor in Ah me's my whining sonnets dressed, A libertine, fantastically I sing. My verse is the true image of my mind, Ever in motion, still desiring change; (Michael Drayton (1563-1631), British poet. Idea (sonnet 1, l. 5-10). . . The Anchor Anthology of Sixteenth Century Verse. Richard Sylvester, ed. (1974) Doubleday/Anchor ? Books.)
Or if no thing but death will serve thy turn, Still thirsting for subversion of my state, Do what thou canst, raze, massacre, and burn, Let the world see the utmost of thy hate; (Michael Drayton (1563-1631), British poet. Idea (sonnet 63, l. 9-12). . . Sonnet, The; an Anthology. Robert M. Bender and Charles L. Squier, eds. (1987) Washington Square Press/Pocket Books.)
Upon Saint Crispin's day Fought was this noble fray, Which fame did not delay To England to carry. On when shall Englishmen With such acts fill a pen, Or England breed again Such a King Harry? (Michael Drayton (1563-1631), British poet. Agincourt (l. 113-120). . . Family Book of Best Loved Poems, The. David L. George, ed. (1952) Doubleday & Company.)
Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, Nay, I have done: you get no more of me, And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free. Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain; Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, When his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyes, Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, From death to life, thou might'st him yet recover. (Michael Drayton (1563-1631), British poet. Idea, Sonnet 61, Idea: in Sixty-three Sonnets (1619), repr. In Works, vol. 2, ed. J. William Hebel (1932).)