#Augustan
Fain would my Muse the flow’ry Tr… And humble glories of the youthful… Where opening Roses breathing swe… And soft Carnations show’r their… Where Lilies smile in virgin robe…
All hail, once pleasing, once insp… Scene of my youthful loves and hap… Where the kind Muses met me as I… And gently press’d my hand, and sa… Take all thou e’er shalt have, a c…
Shut, shut the door, good John! f… Tie up the knocker, say I’m sick,… The dog—star rages! nay 'tis past… All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let… Fire in each eye, and papers in ea…
Vital spark of heav’nly flame! Quit, O quit this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling’ring, flyi… O the pain, the bliss of dying! Cease, fond Nature, cease thy str…
Nothing so true as what you once l… “Most Women have no Characters at… Matter too soft a lasting mark to… And best distinguish’d by black, b… How many pictures of one nymph we…
With no poetic ardour fir’d I press the bed where Wilmot lay; That here he lov’d, or here expir’… Begets no numbers grave or gay. Beneath thy roof, Argyle, are bre…
Women ben full of Ragerie, Yet swinken not sans secresie. Thilke Moral shall ye understond, From Schoole—boy’s Tale of fayre… Which to the Fennes hath him beta…
But our Great Turks in wit must r… And ill can bear a Brother on the… II Wit is like faith by such warm Fo… Who to be saved by one, must damn…
Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose field…
Close by those meads, for ever cro… Where Thames with pride surveys h… There stands a structure of majest… Which from the neighb’ring Hampto… Here Britain’s statesmen oft the…
What dire offence from am’rous cau… What mighty contests rise from tri… I sing—This verse to Caryl, Muse… This, ev’n Belinda may vouchsafe… Slight is the subject, but not so…
She said: the pitying audience mel… But Fate and Jove had stopp’d the… In vain Thalestris with reproach… For who can move when fair Belind… Not half so fix’d the Trojan coul…
Lycidas. Thyrsis, the music of that murm’ri… Is not so mournful as the strains… Nor rivers winding thro’ the vales… So sweetly warble, or so smoothly…
Dear, damn’d distracting town, far… Thy fools no more I’ll tease: This year in peace, ye critics, dw… Ye harlots, sleep at ease! Soft B—and rough C—s adieu,
Two or three visits, and two or th… Two or three civil things, two or… Two or three kisses, with two or t… Two or three Jesus’s– and let me… Two or three squeezes, and two or…
