Go boldly forth, my simple lay,

Whose accents flow with artless ease,

Like orient pearls at random strung.

Sir William Jones (1746-1794): A Persian Song of Hafiz.

Go call a coach, and let a coach be called;

And let the man who calleth be the caller;

And in his calling let him nothing call

But "Coach! Coach! Coach! Oh for a coach, ye gods!"

Henry Carey (1663-1743): Chrononhotonthologos. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Go! you may call it madness, folly;

You shall not chase my gloom away!

There's such a charm in melancholy

I would not if I could be gay.

Samuel Rogers (1763-1855): To ——.

Go, forget me! why should sorrow

O'er that brow a shadow fling?

Go, forget me, and to-morrow

Brightly smile and sweetly sing!

Smile,—though I shall not be near thee;

Sing,—though I shall never hear thee!

Charles Wolfe (1791-1823): Go, forget me!

Go forth under the open sky, and list

To Nature's teachings.

William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878): Thanatopsis.

Go, little booke! go, my little tragedie!

Geoffrey Chaucer (1328-1400): Troilus and Creseide. Book v. Line 1798.

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 (1605-1687): Go, Lovely Rose.

So we 'll go no more a-roving

So late into the night.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: So we 'll go.

For men may come and men may go,

But I go on forever.

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892): The Brook.

Shall I bid her goe? What if I doe?

Shall I bid her goe and spare not?

Oh no, no, no! I dare not.

Thomas Percy (1728-1811): Corydon's Farewell to Phillis.

Go, Soul, the body's guest,

Upon a thankless arrant:

Fear not to touch the best,

The truth shall be thy warrant:

Go, since I needs must die,

And give the world the lie.

Sir Walter Raleigh (1552-1618): The Lie.

Much water goeth by the mill

That the miller knoweth not of.

John Heywood (Circa 1565): Proverbes. Part ii. Chap. v.

Go to grass.

Beaumont And Fletcher: The Little French Lawyer. Act iv. Sc. 7.

Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;

To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;

This sensible warm motion to become

A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit

To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside

In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;

To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,

And blown with restless violence round about

The pendent world.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Go where glory waits thee!

But while fame elates thee,

Oh, still remember me!

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): Go where Glory waits thee.

Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go,

Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Deserted Village. Line 344.