The Works of John Earl of Rochester: Containing Poems, on Several Occasions: His Lordship's Letters to Mr. Savil and Mrs. ** with Valentinian, a Tragedy. Never Before Publish'd Together

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Jacob Tonson, at Shakespear's Head over-against Katherine-street in the Strand, 1714 - 314 pages
 

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Page 50 - I'd be a Dog, a Monkey or a Bear, Or any thing, but that vain Animal, Who is so proud of being rational.
Page 23 - Tis not for pity that I move ; His fate is too aspiring, Whose heart, broke with a load of love, Dies wishing and admiring. But if this murder you'd forego, Your slave from death removing ; Let me your art of charming know, Or learn you mine of loving. But, whether life or death betide, In love 'tis equal measure : The victor lives with empty pride, The vanquished die with pleasure.
Page 91 - Dryden in vain try'd this nice way of Wit; For, he to be a tearing Blade, thought fit To give the Ladies a dry Bawdy Bob; And thus he got the Name of Poet Squab. But to be just, 'twill to his Praise be found, His Excellencies more than Faults abound: Nor dare I from his sacred Temples tear The Laurel, which he best deserves to wear.
Page 26 - Tis not that I am weary grown Of being yours, and yours alone : But with what face can I incline To damn you to be only mine : You, whom some kinder power did fashion, By merit, and by inclination, The joy at least of a.
Page 144 - I ever thought you an extraordinary man, and must now think you such a friend, who, being a courtier, as you are, can love a man, whom it is the great mode to hate.
Page 35 - But her constancy's so weak, She's so wild and apt to wander, That my jealous heart would break Should we live one day asunder. Melting joys about her move, Killing pleasures, wounding blisses, She can dress her eyes in love, And her lips can arm with kisses; Angels listen when she speaks, She's my delight, all mankind's wonder; But my jealous heart would break, Should we live one day asunder.
Page 121 - I'm out of favour with a certain poet, whom I have admired for the disproportion of him and his attributes. He is a rarity which I cannot but be fond of, as one would be of a hog that could fiddle, or a singing owl.
Page 52 - Tis not that they're belov'd, but fortunate; And therefore what they fear, at heart they hate. But now methinks some formal band and beard Takes me to task: Come on, sir, I'm prepar'd!
Page 43 - Courted, admir'd, and lov'd, with Presents fed; Youth in her Looks, and Pleasure in her Bed : 'Till Fate, or her ill Angel, thought it fit To make her...
Page 51 - Pride drew him in, as cheats their bubbles catch, And made him venture to be made a wretch. His wisdom did his happiness destroy, Aiming to know the world he should enjoy; And wit was his vain frivolous pretence Of pleasing others at his own expense.

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