#EnglishWriters
Resolve Me, Cloe, what is This: Or forfeit me One precious Kiss. ’Tis the first Off-spring of the… Bears diff’rent Forms in diff’ren… Acknowledg’d fine, where-e’er behe…
What can I say? What Arguments c… My Truth? What Colors can descri… If it’s Excess and Fury be not kn… In what Thy Celia has already don… Thy Infant Flames, whilst yet the…
Dear Howard, from the soft assaul… Poets and painters never are secur… Can I untouch’d the fair one’s pa… Or thou draw beauty, and not feel… To great Appelles when young Ammo…
Once I was unconfined and free, Would I had been so still! Enjoying sweetest liberty, And roving at my will. But now, not master of my heart,
In Heav’n, one Holy-day, You rea… In wise Anacreon, Ganymede Drew heedless Cupid in, to throw A Main, to pass an Hour, or so. The little Trojan, by the way,
To me ’twas given to die; to thee… To live: alas! one moment sets us… Mark! how impartial is the will of…
Phillis, since we have both been k… And of each other had our fill, Tell me what pleasure you can find In forcing Nature 'gainst her wil… ’Tis true, you may, with art and p…
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…
Whate’er thy countrymen have done By law and wit, by sword and gun, In thee is faithfully recited, And all the living world that view Thy work, give thee the praises du…
Honour, I say, or honest Fame, I mean the substance, not the name… (Not that light heap of tawdry war… Ermin, Coronets, and Stars, Which often is by merit sought,
O Death how thou spoil’st the bes… Said Gabriel, who still as he bur… For the sake of her family married… And thus in an honest collateral l… He still married on till his numbe…
When famed Varelst this little wo… Flora vouchsafed the growing works… Finding the painter’s science at a… The goddess snatch’d the pencil fr… And finishing the piece, she smili…
Since my words, though ne’er so te… With sincerest truth express’d, Cannot make your heart surrender, Nor so much as warm your breast; What will move the springs of Nat…
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…
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,