No More Learning

322
Thou in the fields walkst out thy supping howers, 78
Thou shalt not laugh in this leafe, Muse, nor they 168
Thou which art I, ('tis nothing to be soe) 175
Thou, whose diviner soule hath caus'd thee now 351
Though I be _dead_, and buried, yet I have 220
Thy father all from thee, by his last Will, 77
Thy           picture, _Phryne_, is like thee, 77
Thy friend, whom thy deserts to thee enchaine, 208
Thy sinnes and haires may no man equall call 77
Till I have peace with thee, warr other men, 122
'Tis lost, to trust a Tombe with such a quest, 245
Tis the yeares midnight, and it is the dayes, 44
'Tis true, 'tis day; what though it be?