#EnglishWriters
Say, dearest Villiers, poor depar… (Since fleeting life thus suddenly… Say, what did all thy busy hopes a… That anxious thou from pole to pol… Ere on thy chin the springing bear…
While faster than his costive brai… Philo’s quick hand in flowing lett… His case appears to me like honest… When he was run away with by his l… Phoebus, give Philo o’er himself…
Strephonetta, why d’ye fly me, With such rigour in your eyes: Oh! ’tis cruel to deny me, Since your charms I so much prize… But I plainly see the reason
Of thy judicious Muse’s sense, Young Hinchinbroke so very proud… That Sacharissa and Hortense She looks henceforth upon as dowdi… Yet she to one must still submit,
When poets wrote and painters drew As Nature pointed out the view, Ere Gothic forms were known in Gr… To spoil the well-proportion’d pie… And in our verse ere Monkish rhym…
Yes, every poet is a fool; By demonstration, Ned can show it… Happy could Ned’s inverted rule Prove every fool to be a poet.
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,
Yes, fairest Proof of Beauty’s P… Dear Idol of My panting Heart, Nature points This my fatal Hour: And I have liv’d; and We must par… While now I take my last Adieu,
But shall we take the Muse abroad… To drop her idly on the road, And leave our subject in the middl… As Butler did his Bear and Fiddl… Yet he, consummate master, knew
Upon the Model of The Nut-Brown… Thou, to whose eyes I bend, at wh… (Though low my voice, though artle… I take the sprightly reed, and sin… Careless of what the censuring wor…
Since by ill fate I’m forced away… And snatch’d so soon from those de… Against my will I must obey, And leave those sweet endearing ch… Yet still love on, and never fear
Whilst I in prison or in court lo… Nor beg thy favour nor deserve thy… In vain malicious Fortune hast th… By taking from my state to quell m… Insulting girl, thy present rage a…
While with labour assiduous due pl… And in one day atone for the busin… In a little Dutch chaise, on a Sa… On my left hand my Horace, a W* o… No memoirs to compose, and no post…
Written three hundred years since. Be it right or wrong, these men am… On women do complayne; Affyrmynge this, how that it is A labour spent in vaine
Thy nags, the leanest things alive… So very hard thou lovest to drive, I heard thy anxious coachman say It costs thee more in whips than h…