#English #Women
All—bounteous Heav’n, Castalio cr… With bended Knees, and lifted Eye… When shall I have the Pow’r to bl… And raise up Merit in Distress? How do our Hearts deceive us here…
A wretch, in smoaky Dublin pent, Who rarely sees the Firmament, You graciously invite, to view The Sun’s enliv’ning Rays with yo… To change the Town for flow’ry Me…
The Picture strikes—'tis drawn wi… Well has the Poet play’d the Pain… Tho’ ’tis your Glory, yet, my Lor… I grieve the Features fit yoursel… But know, tho’ All agree the Pict…
Eternal King, is there one Hour, To make me greatly bless’d? When shall I have it in my Pow’r To succour the Distress’d? In vain, alas! my Heart o’erflows
Remote from Strife, from urban Th… Here dwells my Soul amidst domest… No ratling Coaches serious Though… Nor busy prating Fools my Peace d… Wrapt up in all the Sweets of rur…
Stella and Flavia, ev’ry Hour, Unnumber’d Hearts surprize: In Stella’s Soul lies all her Po… And Flavia’s, in her Eyes. More boundless Flavia’s Conquests…
Ye heedless Fair, who trifle Life… Let either Brownlow set your Noti… Be, like the Daughter, innocently… Or, like the Mother, prudent and…
You say ’tis hard to copy well, Where Nature does herself excel. Allow’d—yet still let me advise: Near as you can, to Nature rise; Nor Time, nor Colours will be los…
Books, Pictures, Statues, here we… And each excelling in their Kind. Mead’s Taste in ev’ry Thing we vi… But chiefly in his Choice of You.
OUR master, in a fatal hour, Brought in this Rod, to shew his… O dreadful birch! O baleful tree! Thou instrument of tyranny! Thou deadly damp to youthful joys!
Uncommon Charms, I plainly see, Compleat the Fair for Tyranny. Then, lest your Form should make… Of Conquest, and of giving Pain, Those, whom your Beauties have en…
My Lord of Killala, I find to my… I can’t have the Honour I hop’d f… But why I’m so wretched, my Frien… For I never can write my Vexation… Disappointments are sent to poor…
See, the bright Sun renews his an… Each Beam re—tinges, and revives… By Years uninjur’d; so may’st tho… Not Time from thee, but thou from… O might the Fates thy vital Threa…
See, in the Temple rais’d by Harl… His beauteous Off—spring at the A… There Mortimer resigns his darlin… To happy Portland gives the bloom… Where had the Parent’s Pray’r lik…
Faint—Fair, and act a Play. In some few Hours we must repair, To act, like Thespis, in the Fair… And, as our Stage is of a Piece With that transmitted down from G…
