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

I have a Thought--but wherefore said I one, / I have a thousand Thoughts all up in Arms, / Like populous Towns disturb'd at dead of Night, / That mixt in Darkness bustle to and fro, / As if their Business were to make Confusion.

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1715

"My Soul is up in Arms, my injur'd Honour, / Impatient of the Wrong, calls for Revenge."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1715

"Let thy Heart kindle with the highest Hopes, / Expand thy Bosom, let thy Soul inlarg'd, / Make Room to entertain the coming Glory, / For Majesty and Purple Greatness court thee, / Homage and low Subjection wait."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1715

"Yes, my lov'd Lord, my Soul is mov'd, like Thine, / At ev'ry Danger which Invades our England; / My cold Heart kindles at the great Occasion, / And could be more than Man, in her Defence."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1715

"Read there the fatal Purpose of thy Foe, / A Thought which Wounds my Soul with Shame and Horror."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1715

"Thy Virtues flash, / They break at once on my astonish'd Soul; / As if the Curtains of the Dark were drawn, / To let in Day at Midnight."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1715

"Ev'ry mad Passion kindles up again, / Love, Rage, Despair--and yet I will be Master."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1715

"'Tis false! The thinking Soul is somewhat more / Than Symmetry of Atoms well dispos'd, / The Harmony of Matter."

— 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)