#EnglishWriters
Tune - 'Lady Isabella’s Tragedy.… Of Nero, tyrant, petty king, Who heretofore did reign In famed Hibernia, I will sing, And in a ditty plain.
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,
Hah! how the laurel, great Apollo… And all the cavern shakes! Far of… The man that is unhallow’d: for th… The god approaches. Hark! he knoc… Feel the glad impulse, and the sev…
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…
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
The pride of every grove I chose, The violet sweet and lily fair, The dappled pink and blushing rose… To deck my charming Cloe’s hair. At morn the nymph vouchsafed to pl…
Accept, my Love, as true a heart As ever lover gave; ’Tis free (it vows) from my art, And proud to be your slave. Then take it kindly, as ’twas mean…
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…
On Exodus III. 14. ‘I am that I… Man! foolish man! Scarce know’st thou how thyself be… Scarce hadst thou thought enough t… Yet, steel’d with studied boldness…
Come, weep no more, for ’tis in va… Torment not thus your pretty heart… Think, Flavia, we may meet again, As well as that we now must part. You sigh and weep; the gods neglec…
While we to Jove select the holy… Whom apter shall we sing than Jov… The god for ever great, for ever k… Who slew the earthborn race, and m… To heaven’s great 'habitants? Dic…
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...
Fair Susan did her wif-hede well… Algates assaulted sore by letchour… Now, and I read aright that aunci… Olde were the paramours, the dame… Had thilke same tale in other guis…
Whither would my passion run? Shall I fly her, or pursue her? Losing her I am undone, Yet would not gain her to undo her… Ye tyrants of the human breast,
When Jove lay bless’d in his Alcm… Three nights in one he press’d her… The sun lay set, and conscious nat… To shade her god, and to prolong h… From that auspicious night Alcide…