#EnglishWriters
LORDS, knights, and squires, the… That wear the fair Miss Mary’s… Were summoned by her high command To show their passions by their… My pen amongst the rest I took,
The bewailing of man’s miseries hath been elegantly and copiously set forth by many, in the writings as well of philosophers as divines; and it is both a pleasant and a profitable conte...
Resolve Me, Cloe, what is This: Or forfeit me One precious Kiss. ’Tis the first Off-spring of the… Bears diff’rent Forms in diff’ren… Acknowledg’d fine, where-e’er behe…
I, MY dear, was born to-day— So all my jolly comrades say: They bring me music, wreaths, and… And ask to celebrate my birth: Little, alas! my comrades know
In awful pomp and melancholy state… See settled Reason on the judgeme… Around her crowd Distrust, and Do… And thoughtful Foresight, and tor… Far from the throne the trembling…
At Mary’s tomb (sad sacred place!… The Virtues shall their vigils ke… And every Muse and every Grace In solemn state shall ever weep. The future pious mournful fair,
Haste, my Nannette, My lovely maid, Haste to the bower Thy swain has made. For thee alone
Reading ends in melancholy, Wine breeds vices and diseases, Wealth is but care, and love but f… Only friendship truly pleases. My wealth, my books, my flask, my…
My Lord, Our weekly friends to-morrow meet At Matthew’s palace in Duke-stree… To try for once if they can dine On bacon-ham and mutton-chine.
To the tune of King John and the… Who has e’er been at Paris must n… The fatal retreat of th’ unfortuna… Where honour and justice most oddl… To ease heroes’ pains by a halter…
When Kneller’s works, of various… Were to fair Venus shown, The Goddess spied in every face Some features of her own. Just so, (and pointing with her ha…
Spare, gen’rous victor, spare the… Who did unequal war pursue; That more than triumph he might ha… In being overcome by you. In the dispute whate’er I said,
When Bibo thought fit from the wo… As full of Champagne as an egg’s… He waked in the boat, and to Char… He would be row’d back, for he was… Trim the boat and sit quiet, stern…
Whither would my passion run? Shall I fly her, or pursue her? Losing her I am undone, Yet would not gain her to undo her… Ye tyrants of the human breast,
Some kind angel, gently flying, Moved with pity at my pain, Tell Corinna I am dying Till with joy we meet again. Tell Corinna, since we parted