#EnglishWriters
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
While blooming youth and gay delig… Sit on thy rosy cheeks confess’d, Thou hast, my dear, undoubted righ… To triumph o’er this destined brea… My reason bends to what thy eyes o…
Celia and I the other Day Walk’d o’er the Sand-Hills to the… The setting Sun adorn’d the Coast… His Beams entire, his Fierceness… And, on the Surface of the Deep,
Love! inform thy faithful creature How to keep his fair one’s heart; Must it be by truth of nature, Or by poor dissembling art? Tell the secret, show the wonder,
When Nell, given o’er by the doct… And John at the chimney stood dec… ’Tis in vain said the woman to mak… For to our long home we must all o… True, Nell, replied John; but wha…
Her time with equal prudence Silv… First writes her billet-doux, then… Her mass and toilette, vespers, an… Thus God and Ashtaroth divide the… Constant she keeps her Ember-week…
The Trojan swain had judged the g… And beauty’s power obtain’d the go… When Venus, loose in all her nake… Met Jove’s great daughter clad in… The wanton goddess view’d the warl…
No - I’ll endure ten thousand dea… Ere any further I’ll comply: Oh! Sir, no man on earth that bre… Had ever yet his hand so high. Oh! take your sword and pierce my…
See, whilst Thou weep’st, fair Cl… The World in Sympathy with Thee. The chearful Birds no longer sing… Each drops his Head, and hangs hi… The Clouds have bent their Bosom…
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,
I sent for Ratcliffe, was so ill, That other doctors gave me over, He felt my pulse, prescribed his p… And I was likely to recover. But when the wit began to wheeze,
Dear Cloe, how blubber’d is that… Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hai… Pr’ythee quit this caprice; and (a… Let us e’en talk a little like fol… How can’st thou presume, thou hast…
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
Beneath a Myrtle’s verdant Shade As Cloe half asleep was laid, Cupid perch’d lightly on Her Brea… And in That Heav’n desir’d to res… Over her Paps his Wings He sprea…
Thus to the Muses spoke the Cypri… Adorn my altars, and revere my nam… My son shall else assume his poten… Twang goes the bow; my girls have… The Muses answer’d Venus, We der…