#English #XVIIICentury
Seest thou yon mountain laden with… The groves beneath their fleecy bu… The streams congeal’d, forget to f… Come, thaw the cold, and lay a che… Of fuel on the hearth;
Perfida, crudelis, victa et lympha… Non armis, laurum Gallia fraude p… Venalem pretio plebem conducit, et… Undique privatas patriciasque domo… Nequicquam conata su’, fœdissima s…
A Peasant to his lord yearly cour… Presenting pippins of so rich a so… That he, displeased to have a part… Removed the tree, that all might b… The tree, too old to travel, thoug…
God gives his mercies to be spent; Your hoard will do your soul no go… Gold is a blessing only lent, Repaid by giving others food. The world’s esteem is but a bribe,
Thus heav’nward all things tend.… Perfect, and all must be at length… So God has greatly purpos’d; who… In his dishonour’d works himself e… Dishonour, and be wrong’d without…
SCENE I.—CHORUS OF ANGEL… Now let us garlands weave Of all the fairest flowers, Now at this early dawn, For new-made man, and his companio…
Hatred and vengence—my eternal por… Scarce can endure delay of executi… Wait with impatient readiness to s… Soul in a moment. Damned below Judas; more abhorred…
These verses also to thy praise th… Oh Manso! happy in that theme des… For, Gallus and Maecenas gone, th… None such besides, or whom they lo… And, if my verse may give the meed…
The rose had been washed, just was… Which Mary to Anna conveyed; The plentiful moisture encumbered… And weighed down its beautiful hea… The cup was all filled, and the le…
Madam,—A stranger’s purpose in th… Is to congratulate and not to prai… To give the creature the Creator’… Were sin in me, and an offence to… From man to man, or e’en to woman…
To purify their wine some people b… A lamb into the barrel, and succee… No nostrum, planters say, is half… To make fine sugar, as a negro’s b… Now lambs and negroes both are har…
Muse—hide his name of whom I sing… Lest his surviving house thou brin… For his sake into scorn, Nor speak the school from which he… The much or little that he knew,
Ye sons of earth prepare the ploug… Break up your fallow ground; The sower is gone forth to sow, And scatter blessings round. The seed that finds a stony soil
To be remembered thus is fame, And in the first degree; And did the few like her the same, The press might sleep for me. So Homer, in the memory stored
