Poem by Oliver Goldsmith

A Sonnet

WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight;
MYRA, too sincere for feigning,
Fears th' approaching bridal night.

Yet, why impair thy bright perfection?
Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had MYRA followed my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear. 

1. On Seeing a Lady Perform a Certain Character
2. From the Latin of Vida
3. To G. C. and R. L.
4. The Logicians Refuted
5. Verses in Reply to an Invitation to Dinner at Dr. Baker's

Francis Beaumont A Sonnet ("Flattering Hope, away and leave me")

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