Date: 1700, 1702

"I wage not War with fair ones; / But wish you would efface those ugly Thoughts, / That live in your Remembrance to perplex you; / Let Joy, the native of your Soul return, / And Love's gay God sit smiling in your Eyes, / As e'rst he did."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"And all fires those that lighted up my Soul / Glory and bright Ambition languish now, / And leave me dark and gloomy as the Grave."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"Thought is Damnation, 'tis the Plague of Devils. / To think on what they are! and see this Weapon / Shall shield me from it, plunge me in forgetfulness. / Er'e the dire Scorpion Thought can rouse to sting me."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"My Father! oh let me unlade my Breast, / Pour out the fullness of my Soul before you, / Show ev'ry tender, ev'ry grateful Thought, / This wond'rous Goodness stirs."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"A rising storm of Passion shook her Breast, / Her Eyes a piteous show'r of Tears let fall, / And then she sigh'd as if her Heart were breaking."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"I found the Fond, Believing, Love-sick Maid, / Loose, unattir'd, warm, tender, full of Wishes; / Fierceness and Pride, the Guardians of her Honour, / Were charm'd to Rest, and Love alone was waking. / Within her rising Bosom all was calm, / As peaceful Seas that know no Storms, and only / Are ge...

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"I found my Heart no more beat high with Transport, / No more I sigh'd, and languish'd for Enjoyment, / 'Twas past, and Reason took her turn to reign, / While ev'ry Weakness fell before her Throne."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"At first her Rage was dumb, and wanted Words, / But when the Storm found way, 'twas wild and loud. / Mad as the Priestess of the Delphick God, / Enthusiastick Passion swell'd her Breast, / Enlarg'd her Voice, and ruffled all her Form."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"Oh wretched Husband! while she hangs about thee / With idle Blandishments, and plays the fond one, / Ev'n then her hot Imagination wanders, / Contriving Riot, and loose scapes of Love."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"It were unjust, no let me spare my Friend, / Lock up the fatal Secret in my Breast, / Nor tell him that which will undo his Quiet."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)