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INDEX TO FIRST LINES

Stella is sick, and in that sick-bed lies .

Stella oft sees the very face of woe

Stella, since thou so right a princess art

Stella, the fullness of my thoughts of thee

Stella, the only planet of my light

Stella, think not that I by verse seek fame

Stella, whence doth these new assaults arise

Stella, while now by Honour's cruel might

Such hap as I am happed in

Such wayward ways hath Love, that most part in discorc

Sufficed not, madarne, that you d id tear

Sufficeth it to you, my joys interred

Sweet kiss, thy sweets I fain would sweetly indite

Sweet-swelling lip, well mayst thou swell in pride

Sweet were the joys that both might like and last

Sweet were the sauce would please each kind of taste

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Take heed berime, lest ye be spied * • •
Tangled I was in love's snare ....
That time that mirth did steer my ship « „

The answer that ye made to me, my dear , *
The Assyrian king—in peace, with foul desire
The curious wits, seeing dull pensiveness . »
The enemy of life, decayer of all kind . . »
The fancy, whkh that I have served long * »
The Fire to see my wrongs for anger burneth .
The fruit of all the service that I serve . » *
The golden gift that Nature did thee give
The great Macedon, that out of Persia chased
The heart and service to you proffer'd , .
The joy so short alas, the pain so near . .
The knot which first my heart did strain .

The lad Philisides......

The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth .

The praise of meaner wits this work like profit brings

The restful place, reviver of my smart .

There was never nothing more me pained

The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings

The storms are past, the clouds arc overblown

The strongest and the noblest argument

The sun hath twice brought forth the tender green

The sun may set and rise .....

The wisest scholar of the wight most wise . *

They flee from me, that sometime did me seek •

They whisted all, with fixed face attent * „

This night, while sleep begins with heavy wings .

Tho* I cannot your cruelty constrain ...

Those looks, whose beams be joy, whose motion is delight

Thou blind man'* mark, thou fool's self-chosen snare