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John Wilmot
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A Fragment Of Seneca Translated
After Death nothing is, and nothing, death, / The utmost limit of a gasp of breath. / Let the ambitious zealot lay aside
A Letter From Artemesia In The Town To Chloe In The Country
Chloe, / In verse by your command I write. / Shortly you'll bid me ride astride, and fight:
A Ramble In St. James's Park
Much wine had passed, with grave discourse / Of who f*cks who, and who does worse / (Such as you usually do hear
A Satyre Against Mankind
Were I (who to my cost already am / One of those strange prodigious Creatures Man) / A Spirit free, to choose for my own share,
A Satyre On Charles II
In th' isle of Britain, long since famous grown / For breeding the best cunts in Christendom, / There reigns, and oh! long may he reign and thrive,
A Song Of A Young Lady To Her Ancient Lover
Ancient Person, for whom I / All the flattering youth defy, / Long be it e'er thou grow old,
A Woman's Honor: A Song
Love bade me hope, and I obeyed; / Phyllis continued still unkind: / Then you may e’en despair, he said,
A Woman's Honour
Love bade me hope, and I obeyed; / Phyllis continued still unkind: / Then you may e'en despair, he said,
Absent Of Thee I Languish Still
Absent from thee I languish still; / Then ask me not, when I return? / The straying fool 'twill plainly kill
Against Constancy
Tell me no more of constancy, / The frivolous pretense / Of old age, narrow jealousy,
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