Date: November 25, 1707; 1708

"Speak it, nor wound the Softness of my Soul / With these obscure Complainings; speak, my Lord."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: November 25, 1707; 1708

"My faithful Seofrid / Has pierc'd into her very inmost Heart, / And found thee reigning there."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: November 25, 1707; 1708

"I love, my Aribert; I doat to Death: / The raging Flame has touch'd my Heart, my Brain, / And Madness will ensue."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: November 25, 1707; 1708

"There is no end of Thought--the Labyrinth winds, / And I am lost for ever."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: November 25, 1707; 1708

"Where is my Ethelinda now!--that dear one, / That gently us'd to breath the Sounds of Peace, / Gently as Dews descend, or Slumbers creep; / That us'd to brood o'er my tempestuous Soul, / And hush me to a Calm."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: November 25, 1707; 1708

"First then, to stay these sudden Gusts of Passion / That hurry you from Reason, rest assur'd / The Secret of your Love lives with me only."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: November 25, 1707; 1708

"Hell trembles at the Sight, and hides its Head / In utmost Darkness, while on Earth each Heart, / Like mine, is fill'd with Peace and Joy unutterable."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: November 25, 1707; 1708

"His Noble Nature, / Tho' warm, tho' fierce, and prone to sudden Passions, / Is just and gentle, when the torrent Rage / Ebbs out, and cooler Reason comes again."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: November 25, 1707; 1708

"Oh! thou hast touch'd me with the sacred Theme, / And my cold Heart is kindled at thy Flame; / An active Hope grows busie in my Breast, / And something tells me we shall both be blest."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: November 25, 1707; 1708

"Oh Seofrid! do'st thou not wonder much, / And pity my weak Temper, when thou seest me / Thus in a Moment chang'd from Hot to Cold, / My active Fancy glowing now with Hopes, / Anon thus drooping; Death in my pale Visage, / My Heart, and my chill Veins, all freezing with Despair."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)