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Links
Schedule
of Assignments
The
Stuarts and the Hanovers
The
Diary of Samuel Pepys
A
Journal of the Plague Year
The
Way of the World
The
Collier Controversy
Absalom
and Achitophel
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Click here
to see the inside of the Drury Lane theatre during the era
The complete text of the poem Millament keeps
reciting:
There never yet . . .
by Sir John Suckling
There never yet was woman made,
Nor shall, but to be curst;
And O, that I, fond I, should first,
Of any lover,
This truth at my own charge to other fools discover!
You, that have promis’d to yourselves
Propriety in love,
Know women’s hearts like straw do move,
And what we call
Their sympathy, is but love to jet in general.
All mankind are alike to them;
And, though we iron find
That never with a loadstone join’d,
’Tis not the iron’s fault,
It is because near the loadstone it was never brought.
If where a gentle bee hath fall’n,
And laboured to his power,
A new succeeds not to that flower,
But passes by,
’Tis to be thought, the gallant elsewhere loads his thigh.
For still the flowers ready stand:
One buzzes round about,
One lights, one tastes, gets in, gets out;
All all ways use them,
Till all their sweets are gone, and all again refuse them.
Song
by Sir John Suckling
I prithee spare me, gentle boy;
Press me no more for that slight toy,
That foolish trifle of an heart:
I swear it will not do its part,
Though thou dost thine, employ’st thy power and art.
For through long custom it has known
The little secrets, and is grown
Sullen and wise, will have its will,
And, like old hawks, pursues that still
That makes least sport, flies only where ’t can kill.
Some youth that has not made his story,
Will think perchance the pain’s the glory,
And mannerly sit out love’s feast:
I shall be carving of the best,
Rudely call for the last course ’fore the rest.
And O, when once that course is past,
How short a time the feast doth last!
Men rise away, and scarce say grace,
Or civilly once thank the face
That did invite, but seek another place.
William Congreve
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