Were I (who to my cost already am One of those strange prodigious C… A Spirit free, to choose for my o… What Case of Flesh, and Blood, I… I’d be a Dog, a Monkey, or a Bea…

My light thou art, without thy glo… My eyes are darkened with eternal… My Love, thou art my way, my life… Thou art my way, I wander if thou… Thou art my light, if hid, how bli…

Methinks I see you, newly risen From your embroider’d Bed and pis… With studied mien and much grimace… Present yourself before your glass… To vanish and smooth o’er those gr…

After Death nothing is, and nothi… The utmost limit of a gasp of brea… Let the ambitious zealot lay aside His hopes of heaven, whose faith i… Let slavish souls lay by their fea…

You ladies of merry England Who have been to kiss the Duchess… Pray, did you not lately observe i… A noble Italian called Signior D… This signior was one of the Duche…

Absent from thee, I languish stil… Then ask me not, When I return? The straying fool 'twill plainly k… To wish all day, all night to mour… Dear, from thine arms then let me…

As some brave admiral, in former w… Deprived of force, but pressed wit… Two rival fleets appearing from af… Crawls to the top of an adjacent h… From whence (with thoughts full of…

Here lies a great and mighty King… Whose promise none relied on; He never said a foolish thing, Nor ever did a wise one.

All my past life is mine no more, The flying hours are gone, Like transitory dreams giv’n o’er, Whose images are kept in store By memory alone.

I cannot change, as others do, Though you unjustly scorn; Since that poor swain, that sighs… For you alone was born. No, Phyllis, no, your heart to mo…

My dear mistress has a heart Soft as those kind looks she gave… When with love’s resistless art, And her eyes, she did enslave me; But her constancy’s so weak,

Love bade me hope, and I obeyed; Phyllis continued still unkind: Then you may e’en despair, he said… In vain I strive to change her mi… Honour’s got in, and keeps her hea…

Deare Friend. I heare this Towne does soe aboun… With sawcy Censurers, that faults… With what of late wee (in Poetiqu… Bestowing, threw away on the dull…

All my past life is mine no more, The flying hours are gone, Like transitory dreams given o’er, Whose images are kept in store By memory alone.

Absent from thee I languish still… Then ask me not, when I return? The straying fool 'twill plainly k… To wish all day, all night to mour… Dear! from thine arms then let me…