Nashe Songs

Would I could bark the sun out of the sky;
Turn Moon and stars to frozen Meteors;
And make the Ocean a dry land of Ice;
With tempest of my breath turn up high trees;
On mountains heap up second mounts of snow,
Which, melted into water, might fall down,
As fell the deluge on the former world.
I hate the air, the fire, the Spring, the year,
And whatsoe'er brings mankind any good.
O that my looks were lightning to blast fruits! ... 
Would I with thunder presently might die,
So I might speak in thunder, to slay men.
Earth, if I cannot injure thee enough,
I'll bite thee with my teeth, I'll scratch thee thus;
I'll beat down the partition with my heels,
Which, as a mud-vault, severs hell and thee.
Spirits, come up; 'tis I that knock for you,
One that envies the world far more than you;
Come up in millions; millions are too few
To execute the malice I intend.

Adieu, farewell earth's blisse,
This world uncertain is,
Fond are lifes lustfull joyes,
Death proves them all but toyes.
None from his darts can flye,
I am sick I must die--
      Lord have mercy on us.

 ... 

I saw a summer banqueting house belonging to a merchant, 
that was the marvel of the world, 
and could not be matched except God should make another paradise. 
It was built round of green marble like a theatre without; 
within there was a heaven and earth 
comprehended both under one roof. 
The heaven was a clear overhanging vault of crystal, 
wherein the sun and moon and each visible star 
had his true similitude, shine, situation and motion. 

 ... 

Strength stoops unto the grave,
Worms feed on Hector brave
Swords cannot fight with fate
Earth still holds ope her gate;
Come, come! the bells do cry;
I am sick, I must die--
      Lord have mercy on us.

If I must die, oh let me choose my death:
Suck out my soul with kisses, cruel maid,
In thy breast's crystal balls embalm my breath,
Dole it all out in sighs when I am laid.
Thy lips on mine like cupping-glasses clasp,
Let our tongues meet and strive as they would sting,
Crush out my wind with one straight girting grasp,
Stabs on my heart keep time whilst thou dost sing.
Thy eyes like searing irons burn out mine,
In thy fair tresses stifle me outright;
Like Circe change me to a loathsome swine,
So I may live forever in thy sight.
        Into heaven's joys none can profoundly see
        Except that first they meditate on thee.