Edward Moore (March 22, 1712 – March 1, 1757) was an English dramatist and miscellaneous writer, the son of a dissenting minister, born at Abingdon, Berkshire.
Born: March 22nd, 1712
Died: March 1st, 1757
Categories: English playwrights, English poets, Editors, 1750s deaths
Quotes: 8 sourced quotes total
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| Words (count) | 16 | 4 - 23 |
| Search Results | 24 | 10 - 50 |
Labour for his pains.
I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.
But from the hoop’s bewitching round, Her very shoe has power to wound.
Beauty has wings, and too hastily flies, And love, unrewarded, soon sickens and dies.
’T is now the summer of your youth. Time has not cropt the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.
Time still, as he flies, brings increase to her truth, And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.
Can’t I another’s face commend, And to her virtues be a friend, But instantly your forehead lowers, As if her merit lessen’d yours?
The maid who modestly conceals Her beauties, while she hides, reveals; Give but a glimpse, and fancy draws Whate’er the Grecian Venus was.