Date: 1700, 1702

"Who made my Father be as he was, Royal, / And stamp't the Mark of Greatness on my Soul."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"No! my disdainful Soul shall struggle out / And start at once from its dishonour'd Mansion."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"This Gloom of horrid Night suits well my Soul, / Love, Sorrow, Conscious Worth, and Indignation, / Stir mad Confusion in my lab'ring Breast, / And I am all o're Chaos."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"Ten thousand dismal Fancies crowd my Thoughts."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"A Beam of Hope, / Strikes thro' my Soul, like the first Infant Light, / That glanc'd upon the Chaos."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"I wage not War with fair ones; / But wish you would efface those ugly Thoughts, / That live in your Remembrance to perplex you; / Let Joy, the native of your Soul return, / And Love's gay God sit smiling in your Eyes, / As e'rst he did."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"And all fires those that lighted up my Soul / Glory and bright Ambition languish now, / And leave me dark and gloomy as the Grave."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"Thought is Damnation, 'tis the Plague of Devils. / To think on what they are! and see this Weapon / Shall shield me from it, plunge me in forgetfulness. / Er'e the dire Scorpion Thought can rouse to sting me."

— 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

"A rising storm of Passion shook her Breast, / Her Eyes a piteous show'r of Tears let fall, / And then she sigh'd as if her Heart were breaking."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)