Date: 1700, 1702

"So was the Monarchs heart for passion moulded, / So apt to take at first the soft impression."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"My Son shall breathe so warm a gale of sighs, / As shall dissolve those Isicles, that hang / Like death about her heart."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"Whom should we seek for Friendships but those few, / Those happy few, within whose Breasts alone, / The Footsteps of lost Virtue yet remain?"

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"A lucky thought / Is in my mind at once compleatly form'd, / Like Grecian Pallas in the head of Jove."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"Who made my Father be as he was, Royal, / And stamp't the Mark of Greatness on my Soul."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"This Gloom of horrid Night suits well my Soul, / Love, Sorrow, Conscious Worth, and Indignation, / Stir mad Confusion in my lab'ring Breast, / And I am all o're Chaos."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"Ten thousand dismal Fancies crowd my Thoughts."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"A Beam of Hope, / Strikes thro' my Soul, like the first Infant Light, / That glanc'd upon the Chaos."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

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)