Samuel Daniel

Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, read more

Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using.

And who in time knows whither we may vent the treasure of our tongue, to what strange shores this gain read more

And who in time knows whither we may vent the treasure of our tongue, to what strange shores this gain of our best glories shall be sent, 't unknowing Nations with our stores? What worlds in the yet unformed Occident may come refined with the accents that are ours?

Striving to tell his woes, words would not come;
For light cares speak, when mighty griefs are dumb.

Striving to tell his woes, words would not come;
For light cares speak, when mighty griefs are dumb.

And who in time knows whither we may vent
The treasure of our tongue? To what strange shores
read more

And who in time knows whither we may vent
The treasure of our tongue? To what strange shores
This gain of our best glory shall be sent,
T' enrich unknowing nations with our stores?
What worlds in th' yet unformed Occident
May come refin'd with th' accents that are ours?

The key of the fields (street).
[Fr., La clef des champs.]

The key of the fields (street).
[Fr., La clef des champs.]