How At Heaven's Gates She Claps Her Wings, The Morne Not Waking Til She Sings.
How at heaven's gates she claps her wings,
The morne not waking til she sings.
-- John Lyly (c. 1554-1606)
-- Cupid and Campaspe, Act v, Sc. 1
Cupid and my Campaspe play'd At cards for kisses: Cupid paid.
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrow...
One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she 's dead.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act v, Sc. 1...
There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture
he is given In the dull catalogue of common things....
She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty, Grows cold even in the summer of her age.
-- John Dryden (1631-1700) -- Oedipus, Act iv, Sc. 1...
It seems to me (said she) that you are in some brown study.
-- John Lyly (c. 1554-1606) -- Euphues, 1579 (Arber's reprint), Page 80...
As cold as cucumbers. -- Beaumont and Fletcher -- Cupid's Revenge, Act i, Sc. 1
And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer'd.
My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sigh...
Fortune, the great commandress of the world, Hath divers ways to advance her followe
To some she gives honour without deserving, To other some, deserving without honour....
He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she
And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fulness of perfection lies in him....