Date: 1702

"For oh! My faithful Haly, / Another Care has taken up thy Master; / Spight of the high-wrought Tempest in my Soul, / Spight of the Pangs, which Jealousy has cost me; / This haughty Woman reigns within my Breast: / In vain I strive to put her from my Thoughts, / To drive her out with Empire, and ...

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1702

"A Flood of Passion rises in my Breast, / And labours fiercely upward to my Eyes."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1702

"My Heart beats higher, and my nimble Spirits / Ride swiftly thro' their purple Channels round: / 'Tis the last blaze of Life: Nature revives / Like a dim, winking Lamp, that flashes brightly / With parting Light, and strait is dark for ever."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"At his arrival here I'll visit him; / Whence this Advantage may at least be made, / To ford his shallow Soul."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"Exquisite Charmer! now by Orosmades / I swear, thy each soft Accent melts my Soul."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"Still dost thou melt my Soul with thy soft Images, / And make my Ruine pleasing?"

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"My Father! oh let me unlade my Breast, / Pour out the fullness of my Soul before you, / Show ev'ry tender, ev'ry grateful Thought, / This wond'rous Goodness stirs."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"I found the Fond, Believing, Love-sick Maid, / Loose, unattir'd, warm, tender, full of Wishes; / Fierceness and Pride, the Guardians of her Honour, / Were charm'd to Rest, and Love alone was waking. / Within her rising Bosom all was calm, / As peaceful Seas that know no Storms, and only / Are ge...

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"Trust not to that; / Rage is the shortest Passion of our Souls, / Like narrow Brooks that rise with sudden Show'rs, / It swells in haste, and falls again as soon; / Still as it ebbs the softer Thoughts flow in, / And the Deceiver Love supplies its place."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"A Flood of Tenderness comes o'er my Soul; / I cannot speak!--I love! forgive! and pity thee."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)