#EnglishWriters
While from our looks, fair nymph,… The secret passions of our mind; My heavy eyes, you say, confess A heart to love and grief inclined… There needs, alas! but little art
Dictate, O mighty judge, what tho… Of cities and of courts, of books… And deign to let thy servant hold… Through ages, thus, I may presume… And from the transcript of thy pro…
To John I owed great obligation, But John unhappily thought fit To publish it to all the nation: Sure John and I are more than qui…
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…
Lie Philo untouch’d, on my peacea… Nor take it amiss that so little… I’ve no envy to thee, and some lov… Then why should I answer since fi… Drunk with Helicon’s waters, and…
THE merchant, to secure his treas… Conveys it in a borrow’d name: Euphelia serves to grace my measur… But Chloe is my real flame. My softest verse, my darling lyre,
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,
When Cloe’s Picture was to Venus… Surpriz’d, the Goddess took it fo… And what, said She, does this bol… When was I Bathing thus, and Nak… Pleas’d Cupid heard, and check’d…
When you with High-Dutch Heeren… Expect false Latin and stum’d win… They never taste who always drink; They always talk who never think.
Say, sire of insects, mighty Sol, (A fly upon the chariot-pole Cries out) What blue-bottle alive Did ever with such fury drive? Tell Beelzebub, great Father, tel…
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…
Heavy, O Lord, on my thy judgemen… Accursed I am while God rejects m… O’erwhelm’d in darkness and despai… And every place is hell, for God… O Lord, arise, and let thy beams…
How old may Phyllis be, you ask, Whose beauty thus all hearts engag… To answer is no easy task; For she has really two ages. Stiff in brocard, and pinch’d in s…
Nobles and Heralds, by your leave… Here lie the bones of Matthew Pri… A son of Adam and Eve: Let Bourbon or Nassau go higher.
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…