Date: 1702
"The boiling Passion that disturbs thy Soul, / Spreads Clouds around, and make thy purpose dark."
preview | full record— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)
Date: 1702
"But that my Soul, conscious of whence it sprung, / Sits unpolluted in its sacred Temple, / And scorns to mingle with a Thought so mean."
preview | full record— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)
Date: 1702
""Reason resumes her Empire, / And I am cool again."
preview | full record— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)
Date: 1702
"Love, Sorrow, and the Sting of vile Reproach, / Succeeding one another in their Course, / Like Drops of Eating Water on the Marble, / At length have worn my boasted Courage down."
preview | full record— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)
Date: 1702
"For oh! My faithful Haly, / Another Care has taken up thy Master; / Spight of the high-wrought Tempest in my Soul, / Spight of the Pangs, which Jealousy has cost me; / This haughty Woman reigns within my Breast: / In vain I strive to put her from my Thoughts, / To drive her out with Empire, and ...
preview | full record— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)
Date: 1702
"A Flood of Passion rises in my Breast, / And labours fiercely upward to my Eyes."
preview | full record— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)
Date: 1702
"My Heart beats higher, and my nimble Spirits / Ride swiftly thro' their purple Channels round: / 'Tis the last blaze of Life: Nature revives / Like a dim, winking Lamp, that flashes brightly / With parting Light, and strait is dark for ever."
preview | full record— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)
Date: 1700, 1702
"So was the Monarchs heart for passion moulded, / So apt to take at first the soft impression."
preview | full record— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)
Date: 1700, 1702
"Each busie thought, that rouls within her breast, / Labours for him; the King, when first he sicken'd, / Declar'd he should succeed him in the Throne."
preview | full record— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)
Date: 1704
"Erect your schemes with as much method and skill as you please; yet, if the materials be nothing but dirt, spun out of your own entrails (the guts of modern brains), the edifice will conclude at last in a cobweb; the duration of which, like that of other spiders’ webs, may be imputed to their be...
preview | full record— Swift, Jonathan (1667-1745)