Alexis shun’d his Fellow Swains, Their rural Sports, and jocund St… (Heav’n guard us all from Cupid’s… He lost his Crook, He left his F… And wand’ring thro’ the lonely Ro…

Still, Dorinda, I adore; Think I mean not to deceive you, For I loved you much before, And, alas! now love you more Though I force myself to leave yo…

I have no hopes, the Duke he says… In sure and certain hopes - the pr… Of these two learned peers, I pr’… Who is the lying knave, the priest… The Duke he stands an infidel con…

Lysander talks extremely well; On any subject let him dwell His tropes and figures will conten… He should possess to all degrees The art of talk; he practises

Let perjured fair Amynta know What for her sake I undergo; Tell her, for her how I sustain A lingering fever’s wasting pain; Tell her the torments I endure,

As after noon, one summer’s day, Venus stood bathing in a river; Cupid a-shooting went that way, New strung his bow, new fill’d his… With skill he chose his sharpest d…

It oft to many has successful been Upon his arm to let his mistress l… Or with her airy fan to cool her h… Or gently squeeze her knees, or pr… All public sports to favour young…

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,

VENUS, take my votive glass: Since I am not what I was, What from this day I shall be, Venus, let me never see.

Phillis, give this humour over, We too long have time abused; I shall turn an errant rover If the favour’s still refused. Faith ’tis nonsense out of measure…

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…

Since hired for life, thy servile… Successive conquests and a gloriou… Must of a man immortal vainly boas… And bring him laurels whatsoe’er t… What turn wilt thou employ, what c…

The merchant, to secure his treasu… Conveys it in a borrow’d name: Euphelia serves to grace my measur… But Cloe is my real flame. My softest verse, my darling lyre,

Forgive the muse who, in unhallow’… The saint one moment from his God… For sure whate’er you do, where’er… ’Tis all but one good work, one co… Forgive her; and entreat that God…

The sturdy man, if he in love obta… In open pomp and triumph reigns: The subtle woman, if she should su… Disowns the honour of the deed. Though he for all his boast is for…