Happy (if mortals can be) is the man,Who, not by priest but Reason, rules his span:Reason, to its possessor a sure guide,Reason, a thorn… — Thomas Chatterton Copy Share Image
“Faygne woulde I curse thee further, botte mie tyngue Denies mie harte the favoure soe toe doe.” — Thomas Chatterton Copy Share Image
Almighty Framer of the Skies!O let our pure devotion rise,Like Incense in thy Sight!Wrapt in impenetrable Shade,The Texture of our Souls were made,Till thy… — Thomas Chatterton Copy Share Image
The gatherd storme is rype; the bigge drops falle;The forswat meadowes smethe, and drenche the raine;The comyng ghastness do the cattle pall,And the full… — Thomas Chatterton Copy Share Image
How shall we celebrate the day,When God appeared in mortal clay,The mark of worldly scorn;When the Archangel's heavenly Lays,Attempted the Redeemer's Praise,And hail'd Salvation's… — Thomas Chatterton Copy Share Image
Haste to thie kiste, thie onlie dortoure bedde.Cale, as the claie whiche will gre on thie hedde,Is Charitie and Love aminge highe elves;Knightis and… — Thomas Chatterton Copy Share Image
It is my PRIDE, my damned, native, unconquerable Pride, that plunges me into Distraction. You must know that 19 - 20th of my Composition… — Thomas Chatterton Copy Share Image
O, Winter! Put away thy snowy pride; O, Spring! Neglect the cowslip and the bell; O, Summer! Throw thy pears and plums aside; O,… — Thomas Chatterton Copy Share Image
