So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.
Edmund Waller

Give us enough but with a sparing hand.
Edmund Waller

Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.
Edmund Waller

Go, lovely rose! Tell her that wastes her time and me That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Edmund Waller

To love is to believe, to hope, to know; Tis an essay, a taste of Heaven below!
Edmund Waller

A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.
Edmund Waller

And as pale sickness does invade, Your frailer part, the breaches made, In that fair lodging still more clear, Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.
Edmund Waller

Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, That stand upon the threshold of the new.
Edmund Waller