Nicholas Rowe

From every blush that kindles in thy cheeks,
Ten thousand little loves and graces spring
To revel read more

From every blush that kindles in thy cheeks,
Ten thousand little loves and graces spring
To revel in the roses.

Guilt is the source of sorrow, 'tis the fiend,Th' avenging fiend, that follows us behindWith whips and stings.

Guilt is the source of sorrow, 'tis the fiend,Th' avenging fiend, that follows us behindWith whips and stings.

As if Misfortune made the Throne her Seat,
And none could be unhappy but the Great.

As if Misfortune made the Throne her Seat,
And none could be unhappy but the Great.

Is this that haughty, gallant, gay Lothario?

Is this that haughty, gallant, gay Lothario?

Thou hast prevariated with thy friend,
By underhand contrivances undone me:
And while my open nature trusted read more

Thou hast prevariated with thy friend,
By underhand contrivances undone me:
And while my open nature trusted in thee,
Thou hast stept in between me and my hopes,
And ravish'd from me all my soul held dear.
Thou hast betray'd me.