#EnglishWriters
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…
Her time with equal prudence Silv… First writes her billet-doux, then… Her mass and toilette, vespers, an… Thus God and Ashtaroth divide the… Constant she keeps her Ember-week…
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…
If wine and music have the power To ease the sickness of the soul, Let Phoebis every string explore, And Bacchus fill the sprightly bo… Let them their friendly aid employ
WHAT nymph should I admire or tr… But Chloe beauteous, Chloe just? What nymph should I desire to see… But her who leaves the plain for m… To whom should I compose the lay,
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…
Ma petite ame, ma mignonne, Tu t’en vas donc, máfille, et Die… Tu pars seulette, nuë, et tremblo… Que deviendra ton humeur folichonn… Que deviendront tant de jolis ébat…
To the tune of King John and the… Who has e’er been at Paris must n… The fatal retreat of th’ unfortuna… Where honour and justice most oddl… To ease heroes’ pains by a halter…
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…
On his death-bed poor Lubin lies: His spouse is in despair: With frequent sobs, and mutual cri… They both express their care. A different cause, says Parson Sl…
Thy nags, the leanest things alive… So very hard thou lovest to drive, I heard thy anxious coachman say It costs thee more in whips than h…
Reading ends in melancholy, Wine breeds vices and diseases, Wealth is but care, and love but f… Only friendship truly pleases. My wealth, my books, my flask, my…
Phillis, this pious talk give o’er… And modesty pretend no more, It is too plain an art: Surely you take me for a fool, And would by this prove me so dull
In awful pomp and melancholy state… See settled Reason on the judgeme… Around her crowd Distrust, and Do… And thoughtful Foresight, and tor… Far from the throne the trembling…
When hungry wolves had trespass’d… And the robb’d shepherd his sad st… ‘Call in Alcides,’ said a crafty… ‘Give him one half and he’ll secur… No, said the shepherd, if the Fat…