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.

Here lies a great and mighty King… Whose promise none relied on; He never said a foolish thing, Nor ever did a wise one.

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…

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…

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…

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.

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…

After Death nothing is, and nothi… The utmost limit of a gasp of brea… Let the ambitious zealot lay aside His hopes of heaven, whose faith i… Let slavish souls lay by their fea…

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…

Deare Friend. I heare this Towne does soe aboun… With sawcy Censurers, that faults… With what of late wee (in Poetiqu… Bestowing, threw away on the dull…

My dear mistress has a heart Soft as those kind looks she gave… When with love’s resistless art, And her eyes, she did enslave me; But her constancy’s so weak,

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,

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

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…