Date: November 25, 1707; 1708

"Call back your Thoughts from each deluding Passion, / And wing your parting Soul for her last Flight."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: November 25, 1707; 1708

"Tho' at the Musick of thy Voice, I own, / My Soul is husht, it sinks into a Calm, / And takes sure Omen of its Peace from thee."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: November 25, 1707; 1708

"Perhaps, indeed, such are your wandring Brains, / Our Author might haue spar'd his Tragick Pains."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1714

"This foolish Woman hangs about my Heart, / Lingers, and wanders in my Fancy still."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1714

"'Tis all in vain, this Rage that tears thy Bosom, / Like a poor Bird that flutters in its Cage, / Thou beat'st thy self to Death."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1715

"Thy gentle Temper, / Is form'd with Passions mixt in due Proportion, / Where no one overbears nor plays the Tyrant, / But join in Nature's Business, and thy Happiness: / While mine disdaining Reason and her Laws, / Like all thou can'st imagine wild and furious, / Now drive me head-long on, now w...

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1715

"Oh! Pembroke, 'tis in vain to hide from thee; / For thou hast look'd into my artless Bosom, / And seen at once the Hurry of my Soul."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1715

"Shall thy Soul / Still scorn the World, still flie the Joys that court / Thy blooming Beauty, and thy tender Youth? / Still shall she soar on Contemplation's Wing, / And mix with nothing meaner than the Stars; / As Heaven and Immortality alone / Were Objects worthy to employ her Faculties."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)