A Ramble in St. James’s Park (John Wilmot Poems)
Much wine had passed, with grave discourse Of who fucks who, and who does worse (Such as you usually do ...
Much wine had passed, with grave discourse Of who fucks who, and who does worse (Such as you usually do ...
An age in her embraces passed Would seem a winter's day; When life and light, with envious haste, Are torn ...
In th' isle ...
Were I (who to my cost already am One of those strange prodigious Creatures Man) A Spirit free, to choose ...
After Death nothing is, and nothing, death, The utmost limit of a gasp of breath. Let the ambitious zealot lay ...
At five this morn, when Phoebus raised his head From Thetis' lap, I raised myself from bed, And mounting steed, ...
Chloe, In verse by your command I write. Shortly you'll bid me ride astride, and fight: These talents better with ...
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