Date: February 22, 1723

"No, my dear Roman! nothing can deface / Thy image from thy virgin-widow's breast; / Th' inviolable band of strong desire / Shall ever join our souls!"

— Fenton, Elijah (1683-1730)

Date: February 22, 1723

"My favours shall deface the memory / Of past afflictions: on a soul secure / In native innocence, or grief or joy / Shou'd make no deeper prints than air retains; / Where fleet alike the vulture and the dove, / And leave no trace."

— Fenton, Elijah (1683-1730)

Date: February 22, 1723

"Blind fortune that bestows / The perishable toys of wealth and pow'r, / At random oft resumes them, pleas'd to make / An hurricane of life: but the firm mind / Safe on exalted virtue reigns sedate, / Superior to the giddy whirls of fate."

— Fenton, Elijah (1683-1730)

Date: February 22, 1723

"We cheat the world / With florid outside 'till we meet surprize; / Then conscience, working inward like a mole, / Crumbles the surface, and reveals the dirt / From which our actions spring."

— Fenton, Elijah (1683-1730)

Date: February 22, 1723

"My lord, recall / Your wandering reason."

— Fenton, Elijah (1683-1730)

Date: February 22, 1723

'Tis in vain to boast / That reason o'er the passions holds the rein, / When quite unman'd with such a tale."

— Fenton, Elijah (1683-1730)

Date: February 22, 1723

"Nature on their unpolish'd marble prints / Much tenderer sentiments, than some can boast / Who call them barbarous."

— Fenton, Elijah (1683-1730)

Date: February 22, 1723

"Aided by this brave friend, whose soul is steel'd / With dauntless resolution, though the ghosts / Of all her race rise grinning from the tomb, / And in their cause auxiliar furies join; / Intrepid we'll persue our bold career; / Pitch the sure toils, and rouze the fated deer."

— Fenton, Elijah (1683-1730)

Date: February 22, 1723

"Then her physicians with the opiate charm / Of gentle sleep, her fainting senses bound, / And hush'd the warring passions into peace."

— Fenton, Elijah (1683-1730)

Date: February 22, 1723

"The fair offended seems to shun me now: / How shall I calm the tempest of her Soul!"

— Fenton, Elijah (1683-1730)