Les plus lus ▸
Dave Bonta
ships full of plague and pleasure
take their meat people all about
to see these others
loving and industrious
for entertainment
pleasure is a spent country
having laws but no art
like pain
which the poor have perfected
and now refuse out of hand
a slug is light lined with velvet
a modish rider on foot
full of beer he is a prodigal memorandum
signed and sealed
on the arithmetic of pleasure
the pleasure merchant
in his gold-buttoned suit
is only gentle alone late at night
a bottle to fill with wine
measuring pleasure I have found
thin things and fat
let desires not trouble me
which are too little for any use
but I must not blame now for never
the longest unpleasant afternoon
in some mathematical vision
we proceed by striving to find a void
quick pleasures and sharp agonies
turn into art after a time
who at the burial of lust
could forbear being ash
A full ox is said
to tower, half house
and rank as night.
Life be blessed, but I am much
against too much,
now that we leave pleasure
to the rope.
I work at leisure—
a holy war.
I have bought all my own
pleasures and so
proceed in a supper of ash,
ourselves a dish.
I work with pleasure.
Near an end of work,
I burn to give
satisfaction
to the company.
Take me.
Make me.
Lord’s day. My Lord preached:
“To whom much is given, of him
much is required.”
I took her to my Lord’s wine garden
where I was exceeding free with her
and she free as me.
Gain and ache are the greatest guides.
We lay with women, being pretty handsome.
We went to bed, being somewhat ill,
afterwards disputing for and against
extemporary prayer.
Not quite rid
of myself, what
is best to keep?
According to
instructions received
from the Lord,
pleasure is a question
that I should
not understand,
my mouth ought
to rage. But
my books had been flags
without a country
and I a pen.
Cold cannot love
the winter, or