Friday, June 23, 2017 Text is available under the CC BY-SA 3.0 licence.

Edward Moore (1712 – 1757)


English dramatist and miscellaneous writer, the son of a dissenting minister, born at Abingdon, Berkshire.
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Edward Moore
Beauty has wings, and too hastily flies,
And love, unrewarded, soon sickens and dies.
Moore quotes
’T is now the summer of your youth. Time has not cropt the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.
Moore
The maid who modestly conceals
Her beauties, while she hides, reveals;
Give but a glimpse, and fancy draws
Whate’er the Grecian Venus was.




Moore Edward quotes
Labour for his pains.
Moore Edward
But from the hoop’s bewitching round,
Her very shoe has power to wound.
Edward Moore quotes
I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.
Edward Moore
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?
Moore Edward quotes
Time still, as he flies, brings increase to her truth,
And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.
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