Date: 1703

"She's here! yet oh! my Tongue is at a loss, / Teach me, some Pow'r, that happy Art of Speech, / To dress my Purpose up in gracious Words; / Such as may softly steal upon her Soul, / And never waken the Tempestuous Passions."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"Force, and the Wills of our Imperious Rulers, / May bind two Bodies in one wretched Chain; / But Minds will still look back to their own Choice. / So the poor Captive in a Foreign Realm, / Stands on the Shoar, and sends his Wishes back / To the dear Native Land from whence he came."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"Now as thou art a Man, Horatio, tell me, / What means this wild Confusion in thy Looks? / As if thou wert at variance with thy self, / Madness and Reason combating within thee, / And thou wert doubtful which shou'd get the better."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"My fierce, ambitious Soul / Declining droops, and all her Fires grow pale; / Yet let not this Advantage swell thy Pride, / I Conquer'd in my turn, in Love I Triumph'd."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"Wou'd it were Death, as sure 'tis wond'rous like it, / For I am sick of Living, my Soul's pall'd, / She kindles not with Anger or Revenge; / Love was th'informing, active Fire within, / Now that is quench'd, the Mass forgets to move, / And longs to mingle with its kindred Earth."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"Thou know'st thy Rule, thy Empire in Horatio, / Nor canst thou ask in vain, command in vain, / Where Nature, Reason, nay where Love is Judge."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"Sorrow, Remorse, and Shame, have torn my Soul, / They hang like Winter on my Youthful Hopes, / And blast the Spring and Promise of my Year."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"A Flood of Tenderness comes o'er my Soul; / I cannot speak!--I love! forgive! and pity thee."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"I thought that nothing cou'd have stay'd my Soul, / That long e'er this her Flight had reach'd the Stars; / But thy known Voice has lur'd her back again."

— 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...

— Swift, Jonathan (1667-1745)