#EnglishWriters
Out from the injured canvas, Knel… These lines too faint; the picture… Exalt thy thought, and try thy toi… Dreadful in arms, on Landen’s glo… Place Ormond’s Duke: impendent in…
Light of the World, and Ruler of… With happy Speed begin Thy great… And, as Thou dost thy radiant Jou… Through every distant Climate own… That in fair Albion Thou hast see…
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;
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,
Dear Thomas, didst thou never pop Thy head into a tin-man’s shop? There, Thomas, didst thou never s… ('Tis but by way of simile) A squirrel spend his little rage
By Sylvia if thy charming self be… If friendship be thy virgin vows’… O! let me in Aminta’s praises joi… Hers my esteem shall be, my passio… When for thy head the garland I p…
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…
Of all that William rules, or rob… Describes, great Rhea, of thy glo… When or on posthorse or in chaise, With much expense and little ease, My destin’d miles I shall have go…
Haste, my Nannette, My lovely maid, Haste to the bower Thy swain has made. For thee alone
How long, deluded Albion, wilt th… In the lethargic sleep, the sad re… By which thy close thy constant en… Has softly lull’d thee to thy woes… Or wake, degenerate isle, or cease…
In vain, alas! poor Strephon trie… To ease his tortured breast, Since Amoret the cure denies, And makes his pain a jest. Ah! fair one, why to me so coy,
Why, Harry, what ails you? why lo… To think and ne’er drink will make… ’Tis the mistress, the friend, and… Which create all the pleasure poor… But wine of the three’s the most c…
Democritus, dear droll, revisit ea… And with our follies glut thy heig… Sad Heraclitus, serious wretch, r… In louder grief our greater crimes… Between you both I unconcern’d st…
Come, weep no more, for ’tis in va… Torment not thus your pretty heart… Think, Flavia, we may meet again, As well as that we now must part. You sigh and weep; the gods neglec…
Forbear to ask Me, why I weep; Vext Cloe to her Shepherd said: ’Tis for my Two poor stragling Sh… Perhaps, or for my Squirrel dead. For mind I what You late have wri…