Still may reason war with rhyme,
Resting never!
Underwoods. Fit of Rhyme against Rhyme.
In small proportions we just beauties see,
And in short measures life may perfect be.
Underwoods. To the immortal Memory of Sir Lucius Cary and Sir Henry Morison. III.
What gentle ghost, besprent with April dew,
Hails me so solemnly to yonder yew?[180:2]
Elegy on the Lady Jane Pawlet.