#EnglishWriters
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…
Poor, little, pretty, fluttering t… Must we no longer live together? And dost thou prune thy trembling… To take thy flight thou know’st no… Thy humorous vein, thy pleasing fo…
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…
When Nell, given o’er by the doct… And John at the chimney stood dec… ’Tis in vain said the woman to mak… For to our long home we must all o… True, Nell, replied John; but wha…
While with labour assiduous due pl… And in one day atone for the busin… In a little Dutch chaise, on a Sa… On my left hand my Horace, a W* o… No memoirs to compose, and no post…
Ye careful Angels, whom eternal F… Ordains, on Earth and human Acts… Who turn with secret Pow’r this r… And bid predestin’d Empires rise… Your sacred Aid religious Monarch…
Whilst others proclaim This nymph or that swain, Dearest Nelly the lovely I’ll sin… She shall grace every verse, I’ll her beauties rehearse,
Let perjured fair Amynta know What for her sake I undergo; Tell her, for her how I sustain A lingering fever’s wasting pain; Tell her the torments I endure,
Ovid is the surest guide You can name to show the way To any woman, maid, or bride, Who resolves to go astray.
Thus Kitty, beautiful and young, And wild as colt untamed, Bespoke the fair from whence she s… With little rage inflamed. Inflamed with rage at sad restrain…
As after noon, one summer’s day, Venus stood bathing in a river; Cupid a-shooting went that way, New strung his bow, new fill’d his… With skill he chose his sharpest d…
VENUS, take my votive glass: Since I am not what I was, What from this day I shall be, Venus, let me never see.
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.
Sly Merry Andrew, the last South… (At Bartholomew he did not much a… So peevish was the dict of the Ma… At Southwark, therefore, as his t… To please our masters, and his fri…
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…