#EnglishWriters
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…
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…
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…
I cannot change, as others do, Though you unjustly scorn; Since that poor swain that sighs f… For you alone was born. No, Phyllis, no, your heart to mo…
Ancient Person, for whom I All the flattering youth defy, Long be it e’er thou grow old, Aching, shaking, crazy cold; But still continue as thou art,
Give me leave to rail at you, - I ask nothing but my due: To call you false, and then to say You shall not keep my heart a day. But alas! against my will
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…
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…
Tell me no more of constancy, The frivolous pretense Of old age, narrow jealousy, Disease, and want of sense. Let duller fools on whom kind chan…
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…
Were I - who to my cost already a… One of those strange, prodigious c… A spirit free to choose for my own… What sort of flesh and blood I pl… I’d be a dog, a monkey, or a bear,
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…
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,
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.