En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The House of Socrates

FOR Socrates a House was built,
Of but inferiour Size;
Not highly Arch'd, nor Carv'd, nor Gilt;
The Man, 'tis said, was Wise.

But Mob despis'd the little Cell,
That struck them with no Fear;
Whilst Others thought, there should not dwell
So great a Person there.

How shou'd a due Recourse be made
To One, so much Admir'd?
Where shou'd the spacious Cloth be laid,
Or where the Guests retir'd?

Believe me, quoth the list'ning Sage,
'Twas not to save the Charge;
That in this over-building Age,
My House was not more large.

But this for faithful Friends, and kind,
Was only meant by me;
Who fear that what too streight you find,
Must yet contracted be.

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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The Grave. From The Anglo-Saxon

For thee was a house built
Ere thou wast born,
For thee was a mould meant
Ere thou of mother camest.
But it is not made ready,
Nor its depth measured,
Nor is it seen
How long it shall be.
Now I bring thee
Where thou shalt be;
Now I shall measure thee,
And the mould afterwards.

Thy house is not
Highly timbered,
It is unhigh and low;
When thou art therein,
The heel-ways are low,
The side-ways unhigh.
The roof is built
Thy breast full nigh,
So thou shalt in mould
Dwell full cold,
Dimly and dark.

Doorless is that house,
And dark it is within;
There thou art fast detained
And Death hath the key.
Loathsome is that earth-house,
And grim within to dwell.
There thou shalt dwell,
And worms shall divide thee.

Thus thou art laid,
And leavest thy friends
Thou hast no friend,
Who will come to thee,
Who will ever see
How that house pleaseth thee;
Who will ever open
The door for thee,
And descend for thee;
For soon thou art loathsome
And hateful to see.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Mercury And The Elephant

As Merc'ry travell'd thro' a Wood,
(Whose Errands are more Fleet than Good)
An Elephant before him lay,
That much encumber'd had the Way:
The Messenger, who's still in haste,
Wou'd fain have bow'd, and so have past;
When up arose th' unweildy Brute,
And wou'd repeat a late Dispute,

In which (he said) he'd gain'd the Prize
From a wild Boar of monstrous Size:
But Fame (quoth he) with all her Tongues,
Who Lawyers, Ladies, Soldiers wrongs,
Has, to my Disadvantage, told
An Action throughly Bright and Bold;
Has said, that I foul Play had us'd,
And with my Weight th' Opposer bruis'd;
Had laid my Trunk about his Brawn,
Before his Tushes cou'd be drawn;
Had stunn'd him with a hideous Roar,
And twenty-thousand Scandals more:
But I defy the Talk of Men,
Or Voice of Brutes in ev'ry Den;
Th' impartial Skies are all my Care,
And how it stands Recorded there.
Amongst you Gods, pray, What is thought?
Quoth Mercury–Then have you Fought!

Solicitous thus shou'd I be
For what's said of my Verse and Me;

Or shou'd my Friends Excuses frame,
And beg the Criticks not to blame
(Since from a Female Hand it came)
Defects in Judgment, or in Wit;
They'd but reply - Then has she Writ!

Our Vanity we more betray,
In asking what the World will say,
Than if, in trivial Things like these,
We wait on the Event with ease;
Nor make long Prefaces, to show
What Men are not concern'd to know:
For still untouch'd how we succeed,
'Tis for themselves, not us, they Read;
Whilst that proceeding to requite,
We own (who in the Muse delight)
'Tis for our Selves, not them, we Write.
Betray'd by Solitude to try
Amusements, which the Prosp'rous fly;

And only to the Press repair,
To fix our scatter'd Papers there;
Tho' whilst our Labours are preserv'd,
The Printers may, indeed, be starv'd.

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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An Ode, On the Death of Mr. Henry Purcell

Late Servant to his Majesty, and Organist of the Chapel Royal, and of St. Peter's Westminster

I

Mark how the Lark and Linnet Sing,
With rival Notes
They strain their warbling Throats,
To welcome in the Spring.
But in the close of Night,
When Philomel begins her Heav'nly lay,
They cease their mutual spite,
Drink in her Music with delight,
And list'ning and silent, and silent and list'ning,
And list'ning and silent obey.

II

So ceas'd the rival Crew when Purcell came,
They Sung no more, or only Sung his Fame.
Struck dumb they all admir'd the God-like Man,
The God-like Man,
Alas, too soon retir'd,
As He too late began.
We beg not Hell, our Orpheus to restore,
Had He been there,
Their Sovereign's fear
Had sent Him back before.
The pow'r of Harmony too well they know,
He long e'er this had Tun'd their jarring Sphere,
And left no Hell below.

III

The Heav'nly Choir, who heard his Notes from high,
Let down the Scale of Music from the Sky:
They handed him along,
And all the way He taught, and all the way they Sung.
Ye Brethren of the Lyre, and tuneful Voice,
Lament his Lot: but at your own rejoice.
Now live secure and linger out your days,
The Gods are pleas'd alone with Purcell's Lays,
Nor know to mend their Choice.

poem by John Dryden
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The Appology

'Tis true I write and tell me by what Rule
I am alone forbid to play the fool
To follow through the Groves a wand'ring Muse
And fain'd Idea's for my pleasures chuse
Why shou'd it in my Pen be held a fault
Whilst Mira paints her face, to paint a thought
Whilst Lamia to the manly Bumper flys
And borrow'd Spiritts sparkle in her Eyes
Why shou'd itt be in me a thing so vain
To heat with Poetry my colder Brain?
But I write ill and there-fore shou'd forbear
Does Flavia cease now at her fortieth year
In ev'ry Place to lett that face be seen
Which all the Town rejected at fifteen
Each Woman has her weaknesse; mind [sic] indeed
Is still to write tho' hopelesse to succeed
Nor to the Men is this so easy found
Ev'n in most Works with which the Witts abound
(So weak are all since our first breach with Heav'n)
Ther's lesse to be Applauded than forgiven.

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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The Hog, The Sheep, And Goat, Carrying To A FAIR

Who does not wish, ever to judge aright,
And, in the Course of Life's Affairs,
To have a quick, and far extended Sight,
Tho' it too often multiplies his Cares?
And who has greater Sense, but greater Sorrow shares?

This felt the Swine, now carrying to the Knife;
And whilst the Lamb and silent Goat
In the same fatal Cart lay void of Strife,
He widely stretches his foreboding Throat,
Deaf'ning the easy Crew with his outragious Note.

The angry Driver chides th'unruly Beast,
And bids him all this Noise forbear;
Nor be more loud, nor clamorous than the rest,
Who with him travel'd to the neighb'ring Fair.
And quickly shou'd arrive, and be unfetter'd there.

This, quoth the Swine, I do believe, is true,
And see we're very near the Town;
Whilst these poor Fools of short, and bounded View,
Think 'twill be well, when you have set them down,
And eas'd One of her Milk, the Other of her Gown.

But all the dreadful Butchers in a Row,
To my far-searching Thoughts appear,
Who know indeed, we to the Shambles go,
Whilst I, whom none but Belzebub wou'd shear,
Nor but his Dam wou'd milk, must for my Carcase fear.

But tell me then, will it prevent thy Fate?
The rude unpitying Farmer cries;
If not, the Wretch who tastes his Suff'rings late,
Not He, who thro' th'unhappy Future prys,
Must of the Two be held most Fortunate and Wise.

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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I Built This House

I built this house from its foundation
It's foundation I made it strong
So that it can't be shaken
By anything
I built this house
On love
Not on lies
I built this house
I turned it into a home
And that was my vision
I built this house
Just like a wise woman
A woman who builds a house on a foundation of a rock
Not like a foolish woman
Who builds a house
On a sand
And then turns and destroys it with her hands
I won't allow anything to break it down
To break my children and my husband
With nonsense
With arguments, alcohol and unfaithfulness
So devil you better live
Cause I built this house
On top of the rock Jesus

poem by Vangile Mtyali
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The Houses

1898 -- A Song of the Dominions

'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad,
In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard;
By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate,
On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate.

For my house and thy house no help shall we find
Save thy house and my house -- kin cleaving to kind;
If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon.
If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon.

'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be
Of headship or lordship, or service or fee?
Since my house to thy house no greater can send
Than thy house to my house -- friend comforting friend;
And thy house to my house no meaner can bring
Than my house to thy house -- King counselling King.

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Fools live in fear, braves in love

If we have gold we are in great fear
If we don't have anything we are in danger
And the sage says love is full of fear
Completely blind and has no reason
The sage says fear is the heart's prison
Fear is stronger than love
As it begets prudence and takes care of.
Wise lives in courage fools in fear
Lovers are not cowards or fools either.
Fear has a quick ear but can not hear
Fear has wings but can't fly
Love in a cage can't live but die
Fear and fools falter, love conquers all
A fool distinguishes man but love equals all

poem by Abdul Wahab
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The Young Rat And His Dam, The Cock And The Cat

No Cautions of a Matron, Old and Sage,
Young Rattlehead to Prudence cou'd engage;
But forth the Offspring of her Bed wou'd go,
Nor reason gave, but that he wou'd do so.
Much Counsel was, at parting, thrown away,
Ev'n all, that Mother-Rat to Son cou'd say;
Who follow'd him with utmost reach of Sight,
Then, lost in Tears, and in abandon'd Plight,
Turn'd to her mournful Cell, and bid the World Good-Night.

But Fortune, kinder than her boding Thought,
In little time the Vagrant homewards brought,
Rais'd in his Mind, and mended in his Dress,
Who the Bel-air did every way confess,
Had learnt to flow'r his Wigg, nor brusht away
The falling Meal, that on his Shoulders lay;
And from a Nutshell, wimbl'd by a Worm,
Took Snuff, and cou'd the Government reform.

The Mother, weeping from Maternal Love,
To see him thus prodigiously improve,
Expected mighty Changes too, within,
And Wisdom to avoid the Cat, and Gin.
Whom did you chiefly note, Sweetheart, quoth she,
Of all the Strangers you abroad did see?
Who grac'd you most, or did your Fancy take?
The younger Rat than curs'd a noisy Rake,
That barr'd the best Acquaintance he cou'd make;
And fear'd him so, he trembl'd ev'ry Part;
Nor to describe him, scarce cou'd have the Heart.

High on his Feet (quoth he) himself he bore,
And terribly, in his own Language, swore;
A feather'd Arm came out from either Side,
Which loud he clapp'd, and Combatants defy'd,
And to each Leg a Bayonette was ty'd:
And certainly his Head with Wounds was sore;
For That, and both his Cheeks a Sanguine Colour wore.

Near Him there lay the Creature I admir'd,
And for a Friend by Sympathy desir'd:
His Make, like Ours, as far as Tail and Feet,
With Coat of Furr in parallel do meet;
Yet seeming of a more exalted Race,
Tho' humble Meekness beautify'd his Face:
A purring Sound compos'd his gentle Mind,
Whilst frequent Slumbers did his Eye-lids bind;
Whose soft, contracted Paw lay calmly still,
As if unus'd to prejudice, or kill.

I paus'd a while, to meditate a Speech,
And now was stepping just within his reach;
When that rude Clown began his hect'ring Cry,
And made me for my Life, and from th' Attempt to fly.
Indeed 'twas Time, the shiv'ring Beldam said,
To scour the Plain, and be of Life afraid.

Thou base, degen'rate Seed of injur'd Rats,
Thou veriest Fool (she cry'd) of all my Brats;
Would'st thou have shaken Hands with hostile Cats,
And dost not yet thine Own, and Country's Foe,
At this expence of Time, and Travel know?

Alas! that swearing, staring, bullying Thing,
That tore his Throat, and blustered with his Wing,
Was but some paltry, Dunghill, Craven Cock,
Who serves the early Household for a Clock.

And We his Oats, and Barley often steal,
Nor fear, he shou'd revenge the pilfer'd Meal:
Whilst that demure, and seeming harmless Puss
Herself, and mewing Chits regales with Us.

If then, of useful Sense thou'st gain'd no more,
Than ere thou'dst past the Threshold of my Door;
Be here, my Son, content to Dress and Dine,
Steeping the List of Beauties in thy Wine,
And neighb'ring Vermin with false Gloss outshine.

Amongst Mankind a Thousand Fops we see,
Who in their Rambles learn no more than Thee;
Cross o'er the Alpes, and make the Tour of France,
To learn a paltry Song, or antick Dance;
Bringing their Noddles, and Valizes pack'd
With Mysteries, from Shops and Taylors wreck'd:
But what may prejudice their Native Land;
Whose Troops are raising, or whose Fleet is mann'd,
Ne'er moves their Thoughts, nor do they understand.
Thou, my dear Rattlehead, and such as These
Might keep at home, and brood on Sloth and Ease:
Whilst Others, more adapted to the Age,
May vig'rously in Warlike Feats engage,
And live on foreign Spoils, or dying thin the Stage.

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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A Poem For The Birth-Day Of The Right Honble The Lady Catharine Tufton

'Tis fit SERENA shou'd be sung.
High-born SERENA, Fair and Young,
Shou'd be of ev'ry Muse and Voice
The pleasing, and applauded Choice.
But as the Meanest of the Show
Do First in all Processions go:
So, let my Steps pursue that Swain
The humblest of th' inspired Train;
Whose well-meant Verse did just appear,
To lead on the preceding Year:
So let my Pen, the next in Fame,
Now wait on fair SERENA's Name;
The second Tribute gladly pay,
And hail this blest returning Day.
But let it not attempt to raise
Or rightly speak SERENA's Praise:
Since with more ease we might declare
How Great her Predecessors were;
How Great that more distinguish'd Peer,
To whom she owes her Being here;
In whom our Britain lets us see
What once they were, and still shou'd be;
As, when the earliest Race was drown'd,
Some Patterns, from amongst them found,
Were kept to shew succeeding Times
Their Excellence without their Crimes:
More easily we might express
What Vertues do her Mother dress;
What does her Form and Mind adorn,
Of whom th' engaging Nymph was born;
What Piety, what generous Love,
Does the enlarged Bosom move
Of Her, whose Fav'rite she appears,
Who more than as a Niece endears.
Such full Perfections obvious lie,
And strike, at first, a Poet's Eye.
Deep Lines of Honour all can hit,
Or mark out a superior Wit;
Consummate Goodness all can show,
And where such Graces shine below:
But the more tender Strokes to trace,
T' express the Promise of a Face,
When but the Dawnings of the Mind
We from the Air unripen'd find;
Which alt'ring, as new Moments rise,
The Pen or Pencil's Art defies;
When Flesh and Blood in Youth appears,
Polish'd like what our Marble wears;
Fresh as that Shade of op'ning Green,
Which first upon our Groves is seen;
Enliven'd by a harmless Fire,
And brighten'd by each gay Desire;
These nicer Touches wou'd demand
A Cowley's or a Waller's Hand,
T'explain, with undisputed Art,
What 'tis affects th'enlighten'd Heart,
When ev'ry darker Thought gives way,
Whilst blooming Beauty we survey;
To shew how All, that's soft and sweet,
Does in the fair SERENA meet;
To tell us, with a sure Presage,
The Charms of her maturer Age.
When Hothfeild shall (as heretofore {4}
From its far-sought and virtuous Store
It Families of great Renown
Did with illustrious Hymens crown)
When Hothfeild shall such Treasure know,
As fair SERENA to bestow:
Then shou'd some Muse of loftier Wing
The Triumphs of that Season sing;
Describe the Pains, the Hopes, the Fears
Of noble Youths, th'ambitious Cares
Of Fathers, the long-fram'd Design,
To add such Splendour to their Line,
Whilst all shall strive for such a Bride
So Educated, and Ally'd.

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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23feb14 The Day After: This House

an earthquake here
like that this house
will fall judgement day
I have made my choices

but where really
is your house built?

a house
built
on sand?

or a house built
on the rock mass?

better a tin shack
in heaven
or a mansion in hell?

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Decision Of Fortune

Fortune well-Pictur'd on a rolling Globe,
With waving Locks, and thin transparent Robe,
A Man beholding, to his Neighbor cry'd,
Whoe'er would catch this Dame, must swiftly ride.
Mark, how she seems to Fly, and with her bears,
All that is worth a busie Mortal's Cares:
The gilded Air about her Statue shines,
As if the Earth had lent it all her Mines;
At random Here a Diadem she flings,
And There a scarlet Hat with dangling Strings,
And to ten Thousand Fools ten Thousand glorious Things.
Shall I then stay at Home, Dull and Content
With Quarter-Days, and hard extorted Rent?
No, I'll to Horse, to Sea, to utmost Isles,
But I'll encounter her propitious Smiles:
Whilst you in slothful Ease may chuse to Sleep,
And scarce the few Paternal Acres keep.
Farewel, reply'd his Friend, may you advance,
And grow the Darling of this Lady Chance:
Whilst I indeed, not courting of her Grace,
Shall dwell content, in this my Native Place,
Hoping I still shall for your Friend be known:
But if too big for such Acquaintance grown,
I shan't be such a fond mistaken Sot,
To think Remembrance should become my Lot;
When you Exalted, have your self Forgot.
Nor me Ambitious ever shall you find,
Or hunting Fortune, who, they say, is Blind:
But if her Want of Sight shou'd make her Stray,
She shou'd be Welcome, if she came this way.
'Tis very like (the Undertaker cry'd)
That she her steps to these lost Paths shou'd guide:
But I lose Time, whilst I such Thoughts deride.
Away he goes, with Expectation chear'd,
But when his Course he round the World had steer'd,
And much had borne, and much had hop'd and fear'd,
Yet cou'd not be inform'd where he might find
This fickle Mistress of all Human-kind:
He quits at length the Chace of flying Game,
And back as to his Neighbor's House he came,
He there encounters the uncertain Dame;
Who lighting from her gaudy Coach in haste,
To him her eager Speeches thus addrest.
Fortune behold, who has been long pursu'd,
Whilst all the Men, that have my Splendors view'd,
Madly enamour'd, have such Flatt'ries forg'd,
And with such Lies their vain Pretensions urg'd,
That Hither I am fled to shun their Suits,
And by free Choice conclude their vain Disputes;
Whilst I the Owner of this Mansion bless,
And he unseeking Fortune shall possess.
Tho' rightly charg'd as something Dark of Sight,
Yet Merit, when 'tis found, is my Delight;
To Knaves and Fools, when I've some Grace allow'd,
'T has been like scattering Money in a Croud,
To make me Sport, as I beheld them strive,
And some observ'd (thro' Age) but Half-alive;
Scrambling amongst the Vigorous and Young,
One proves his Sword, and One his wheedling Tongue,
All striving to obtain me right or wrong;
Whilst Crowns, and Crosiers in the Contest hurl'd,
Shew'd me a Farce in the contending World.
Thou wert deluded, whilst with Ship, or Steed,
Thou lately didst attempt to reach my Speed,
And by laborious Toil, and endless Pains,
Didst sell thy Quiet for my doubtful Gains:
Whilst He alone my real Fav'rite rises,
Who every Thing to its just Value prizes,
And neither courts, nor yet my Gifts despises

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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Blown Away

My mind is full of doubts
Like the head
of a dandelion ripe
to be blown away
always. Though
I know
I can calculate
and two
and two
is always
four.

And full of surprise
like a child's eyes
that Momma's
still there
after each
peek-a-boo;

And when building so tall
with blocks
just to see
so easy
it all
fall
down.

I still wonder why
after I
built a house
calculating all
putting in
cement,
2x4's
a roof
a floor
it doesn't
fall.

So with wonder fear surprise
as we go over the rise
back home from a day
away
we find
the house
stayed whole
again
today.

poem by Joe Oppenheimer
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The Introduction

Did I, my lines intend for publick view,
How many censures, wou'd their faults persue,
Some wou'd, because such words they do affect,
Cry they're insipid, empty, uncorrect.
And many, have attain'd, dull and untaught
The name of Witt, only by finding fault.
True judges, might condemn their want of witt,
And all might say, they're by a Woman writt.
Alas! a woman that attempts the pen,
Such an intruder on the rights of men,
Such a presumptuous Creature, is esteem'd,
The fault, can by no vertue be redeem'd.
They tell us, we mistake our sex and way;
Good breeding, fassion, dancing, dressing, play
Are the accomplishments we shou'd desire;
To write, or read, or think, or to enquire
Wou'd cloud our beauty, and exaust our time;
And interrupt the Conquests of our prime;
Whilst the dull mannage, of a servile house
Is held by some, our outmost art, and use.
Sure 'twas not ever thus, nor are we told
Fables, of Women that excell'd of old;
To whom, by the diffusive hand of Heaven
Some share of witt, and poetry was given.
On that glad day, on which the Ark return'd, {1}
The holy pledge, for which the Land had mourn'd,
The joyfull Tribes, attend itt on the way,
The Levites do the sacred Charge convey,
Whilst various Instruments, before itt play;
Here, holy Virgins in the Concert joyn,
The louder notes, to soften, and refine,
And with alternate verse, compleat the Hymn Devine.
Loe! the yong Poet, after Gods own heart, {2}
By Him inspired, and taught the Muses Art,
Return'd from Conquest, a bright Chorus meets,
That sing his slayn ten thousand in the streets.
In such loud numbers they his acts declare,
Proclaim the wonders, of his early war,
That Saul upon the vast applause does frown,
And feels, itts mighty thunder shake the Crown.
What, can the threat'n'd Judgment now prolong?
Half of the Kingdom is already gone;
The fairest half, whose influence guides the rest,
Have David's Empire, o're their hearts confess't.
A Woman here, leads fainting Israel on, {3}
She fights, she wins, she tryumphs with a song,
Devout, Majestick, for the subject fitt,
And far above her arms, exalts her witt,
Then, to the peacefull, shady Palm withdraws,
And rules the rescu'd Nation with her Laws.
How are we fal'n, fal'n by mistaken rules?
And Education's, more than Nature's fools,
Debarr'd from all improve-ments of the mind,
And to be dull, expected and dessigned;
And if some one, would Soar above the rest,
With warmer fancy, and ambition press't,
So strong, th' opposing faction still appears,
The hopes to thrive, can ne're outweigh the fears,
Be caution'd then my Muse, and still retir'd;
Nor be dispis'd, aiming to be admir'd;
Conscious of wants, still with contracted wing,
To some few freinds, and to thy sorrows sing;
For groves of Lawrell, thou wert never meant; {4}
Be dark enough thy shades, and be thou there content.

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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There is no Fear

The people of this world, if against they stand,
There is no fear, there is no fear, nothing like fear.

Although, we are counted cheap and rebuked,
There is no fear , there is no fear , nothing like fear.

If to beg for food, would be a life attained,
There is no fear , there is no fear , nothing like fear.

Loveable possessions if, are lost,
There is no fear , there is no fear , nothing like fear.

2. If clothed bosomed damsels, cast their eyes
There is no fear , there is no fear , nothing like fear.

Poison in the mouth, if fed by friends
There is no fear , there is no fear , nothing like fear.

Shielded armies, if to attack approach
There is no fear , there is no fear , nothing like fear.

On the acme of my head, if the sky did crash and plummet down
There is no fear , there is no fear , nothing like fear.

poem by Subramanya Bharathi
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Save Her

Miles away she walks free,
Dangerous animals behind the trees,
Her parents' home wants degrees,
She has fear, she is not clear

Her brother at home he has friends,
A friend of my friend is also my friend,
She trust her brother and so his friends,
She has fear she is not clear,

Trust me now she needs to be saved,
Take action now before she is moved,
For a long walk she'll be tired
For trust and fear she will be carried.

Almost tired I can feel her breath,
Firewood and water she is tired to death,
Please save her to the righteousness path,
Please save from the world with filth,

It is her fault the rude man may say,
She was tired and needed to be laid,
She seduced the truth be told,
For trust and fear she'll be carried.
Please save her for building boarding schools,
Try to rescue her for having enough food,
Behind uniforms she'll be safe from fools,
For school and food she will actually be good.

poem by Dickson Mseti
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To Mr. F. Now Earl of W

No sooner, FLAVIO, was you gone,
But, your Injunction thought upon,
ARDELIA took the Pen;
Designing to perform the Task,
Her FLAVIO did so kindly ask,
Ere he returned agen.

Unto Parnassus strait she sent,
And bid the Messenger, that went
Unto the Muses Court,
Assure them, she their Aid did need,
And begg'd they'd use their utmost Speed,
Because the Time was short.

The hasty Summons was allow'd;
And being well-bred, they rose and bow'd,
And said, they'd poste away;
That well they did ARDELIA know,
And that no Female's Voice below
They sooner wou'd obey:

That many of that rhiming Train,
On like Occasions, sought in vain
Their Industry t'excite;
But for ARDELIA all they'd leave:
Thus flatt'ring can the Muse deceive,
And wheedle us to write.

Yet, since there was such haste requir'd;
To know the Subject 'twas desir'd,
On which they must infuse;
That they might temper Words and Rules,
And with their Counsel carry Tools,
As Country-Doctors use.

Wherefore to cut off all Delays,
'Twas soon reply'd, a Husband's Praise
(Tho' in these looser Times)
ARDELIA gladly wou'd rehearse
A Husband's, who indulg'd her Verse,
And now requir'd her Rimes.

A Husband! eccho'd all around:
And to Parnassus sure that Sound
Had never yet been sent;
Amazement in each Face was read,
In haste th'affrighted Sisters fled,
And unto Council went.

Erato cry'd, since Grizel's Days,
Since Troy-Town pleas'd, and Chivey-chace,
No such Design was known;
And 'twas their Bus'ness to take care,
It reach'd not to the publick Ear,
Or got about the Town:

Nor came where Evening Beaux were met
O'er Billet-doux and Chocolate,
Lest it destroy'd the House;
For in that Place, who cou'd dispence
(That wore his Cloaths with common Sense)
With mention of a Spouse?

'Twas put unto the Vote at last,
And in the Negative it past,
None to her Aid shou'd move;
Yet since ARDELIA was a Friend,
Excuses 'twas agreed to send,
Which plausible might prove:

That Pegasus of late had been
So often rid thro' thick and thin,
With neither Fear nor Wit;
In Panegyrick been so spurr'd
He cou'd not from the Stall be stirr'd,
Nor wou'd endure the Bit.

Melpomene had given a Bond,
By the new House alone to stand,
And write of War and Strife;
Thalia, she had taken Fees,
And Stipends from the Patentees,
And durst not for her Life.

Urania only lik'd the Choice;
Yet not to thwart the publick Voice,
She whisp'ring did impart:
They need no Foreign Aid invoke,
No help to draw a moving Stroke,
Who dictate from the Heart.

Enough! the pleas'd ARDELIA cry'd;
And slighting ev'ry Muse beside,
Consulting now her Breast,
Perceiv'd that ev'ry tender Thought,
Which from abroad she'd vainly sought,
Did there in Silence rest:

And shou'd unmov'd that Post maintain,
Till in his quick Return again,
Met in some neighb'ring Grove,
(Where Vice nor Vanity appear)
Her FLAVIO them alone might hear,
In all the Sounds of Love.

For since the World do's so despise
Hymen's Endearments and its Ties,
They shou'd mysterious be;
Till We that Pleasure too possess
(Which makes their fancy'd Happiness)
Of stollen Secrecy.

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This House

(nile rodgers)
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
Our toys are in the attic baby
Pictures on the wall
We can see our memories
From the days past in the mirror
Down the hall, oh yeah
Our love will survive in our own little paradise
So inspired, so inspired
Palatial it may not be
But its a home and a castle to me
A dream from a magazine
And well never give it up cause
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
Ill try to comfort you baby
You try to comfort me yeah
I know you love me
With all your heart, oh yeah
cause you say you do
You know that when you are sad
Ill be there in a flash
At the drop of a hat, oh yeah
cause I want you to feel love
And you dont have to say a thing
You dont have to ask, cause baby
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
Maybe well strike it rich
One day really make it big
And I know because our love is so strong
Well always have a home
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love

song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cook Of The House

Ground rice, sugar, vinegar, seco salt, macaroni too,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
No matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best cause Im the cook of the house,
Cook of the house.
The salads in the bowl,
The rice is on the stove.
Green beans in the colander and where the res is heaven only knows.
Cinnamon, garlic, salt, pepper, corn-bread, curry powder, coffee too,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
No, matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best.
cause Im the cook of the house,
Cook of the house.
Where the rest is heaven only knows.
Matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best cause Im the cook of the house.
Cook of the house,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.

song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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House of fire (Lyrics)

House of fire
House of fire, yeah
Let's build a house of fire, baby
Not one of wood or stone
Walk thru my door of desire, baby
Come on in and make it your home
Don't need a window to watch you, baby
Don't need no roof overhead
Don't need no key to unlock ya, baby
I'll use my lovin'instead
I won't tire
Take me higher
Building a house of fire, baby
Buildin'it with our love
We are buildin'a house of fire every time we touch
House of fire
House of fire
We ain't gotta pay rent now, baby
No landlord to throw us out
I want to play in your garden, baby
When you want it give me a shout
I won't tire
Take me higher
Building a house of fire, baby
Buildin'it with our love
We are building a house of fire every time we touch
We are building this house together, baby
Standing on solid ground
We are building a house of fire
That you can't tear down
Brick by brick the flames get higher
Build it strong with our desire
Building a house of fire, baby
Building it with our love
We are building a house of fire every time we touch
We are building this house together, baby
Standing on solid ground
We are building a house of fire
That you can't tear down
Building a house of fire, baby
Building it with our love
We are building a house of fire every time we touch

poem by Satan's Sibling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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