#English
Methinks I see you, newly risen From your embroider’d Bed and pis… With studied mien and much grimace… Present yourself before your glass… To vanish and smooth o’er those gr…
Absent from thee I languish still… Then ask me not, when I return? The straying fool 'twill plainly k… To wish all day, all night to mour… Dear! from thine arms then let me…
You ladies of merry England Who have been to kiss the Duchess… Pray, did you not lately observe i… A noble Italian called Signior D… This signior was one of the Duche…
Love bade me hope, and I obeyed; Phyllis continued still unkind: Then you may e’en despair, he said… In vain I strive to change her mi… Honour’s got in, and keeps her hea…
All my past life is mine no more, The flying hours are gone, Like transitory dreams given o’er, Whose images are kept in store By memory alone.
Give me leave to rail at you, - I ask nothing but my due: To call you false, and then to say You shall not keep my heart a day. But alas! against my will
As some brave admiral, in former w… Deprived of force, but pressed wit… Two rival fleets appearing from af… Crawls to the top of an adjacent h… From whence (with thoughts full of…
Ancient Person, for whom I All the flattering youth defy, Long be it e’er thou grow old, Aching, shaking, crazy cold; But still continue as thou art,
Absent from thee, I languish stil… Then ask me not, When I return? The straying fool 'twill plainly k… To wish all day, all night to mour… Dear, from thine arms then let me…
My light thou art, without thy glo… My eyes are darkened with eternal… My Love, thou art my way, my life… Thou art my way, I wander if thou… Thou art my light, if hid, how bli…
I cannot change, as others do, Though you unjustly scorn; Since that poor swain that sighs f… For you alone was born. No, Phyllis, no, your heart to mo…
Here lies a great and mighty King… Whose promise none relied on; He never said a foolish thing, Nor ever did a wise one.
Tell me no more of constancy, The frivolous pretense Of old age, narrow jealousy, Disease, and want of sense. Let duller fools on whom kind chan…
All my past life is mine no more, The flying hours are gone, Like transitory dreams giv’n o’er, Whose images are kept in store By memory alone.
