#EnglishWriters
At dead of night, when stars appea… And strong Bootes turns the Bear, When mortals sleep their cares awa… Fatigued with labours of the day, Cupid was knocking at my gate;
In Virgil’s Sacred Verse we find… That Passion can depress or raise The Heav’nly, as the Human Mind: Who dare deny what Virgil says? But if They shou’d; what our Grea…
Sure Cloe Just, and Cloe Fair Deserves to be Your only Care: But when You and She to-day Far into the Wood did stray, And I happen’d to pass by;
Once I was unconfined and free, Would I had been so still! Enjoying sweetest liberty, And roving at my will. But now, not master of my heart,
As Nancy at her toilette sat, Admiring this, and blaming that, Tell me, she said, but tell me tru… The nymph who could your heart sub… What sort of charms does she posse…
Phillis, since we have both been k… And of each other had our fill, Tell me what pleasure you can find In forcing Nature 'gainst her wil… ’Tis true, you may, with art and p…
Dear Chloe, how blubber’d is that… Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hai… Prythee quit this caprice; and (as… Let us e’en talk a little like fol… How canst thou presume, thou hast…
The Sceptics think ’twas long ago Since gods came down incognito To see who were their friends or f… And how our actions fell or rose;
Honour, I say, or honest Fame, I mean the substance, not the name… (Not that light heap of tawdry war… Ermin, Coronets, and Stars, Which often is by merit sought,
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...
His lamp, his bow, and quiver laid… A rustic wallet o’er his shoulders… Sly Cupid, always on new mischief… To the rich field and furrow’d til… Like any ploughman toil’d the litt…
Hier, l’Amour touche du son Que rendoit ma lire qu’il aime, Me promit pour une chanson, Deux baisers de sa mere mesme. Non, luy dis-je, tu scals mes voeu…
Wiessen and nature held a long con… If she created or he painted best; With pleasing thought the wondrous… She still form’d fairer, he still… In these seven brethren they conte…
That all from Adam first began, None but ungodly Whiston doubts, And that his son and his son’s son Were all but ploughmen, clowns, an… Each when his rustic pains began
Since, Moggy, I mun bid adieu, How can I help despairing? Let cruel Fate us still pursue, There’s nought more worth my carin… ’Twas she alone could calm my soul