#EnglishWriters
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…
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…
Haste, my Nannette, My lovely maid, Haste to the bower Thy swain has made. For thee alone
Whilst I am scorch’d with hot des… In vain cold Friendship you retur… Your drops of pity on my fire, Alas! but make it fiercer burn. Ah! would you have the flame suppr…
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…
AS doctors give physic by way of… Mat, alive and in health, of hi… For delays are unsafe, and his pio… May haply be never fulfill’d by… Then take Mat’s word for it, the…
Morella, charming without art, And kind without design, Can never lose the smallest part Of such a heart as mine. Obliged a thousand several ways,
Hans Carvel, impotent and old, Married a lass of London mould. Handsome? Enough; extremely gay; Loved music, company, and play: High flights she had, and wit at w…
The bewailing of man’s miseries hath been elegantly and copiously set forth by many, in the writings as well of philosophers as divines; and it is both a pleasant and a profitable conte...
My Lord, Our weekly friends to-morrow meet At Matthew’s palace in Duke-stree… To try for once if they can dine On bacon-ham and mutton-chine.
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…
Solomon considers man through the several stages and conditions of life, and concludes, in general, that we are all miserable. He reflects more particularly upon the trouble and uncerta...
Poor Hal caught his death standin… Expecting till midnight when Nan… But fatal his patience, as cruel t… And cursed was the weather that qu… Whoe’er thou art that reads these…
Dear Chloe, how blubber’d is that… Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hai… Prythee quit this caprice; and (as… Let us e’en talk a little like fol… How canst thou presume, thou hast…
Dulce est desipere in loco. Some Folks are drunk, yet do not… So might not Bacchus give You La… Was it a Muse, O lofty Poet, Or Virgin of St. Cyr, You saw?