He rais'd a mortal to the skies,

She drew an angel down.

John Dryden (1631-1701): Alexander's Feast. Line 169.

The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.

For contemplation he and valour form'd,

For softness she and sweet attractive grace;

He for God only, she for God in him.

His fair large front and eye sublime declar'd

Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks

Round from his parted forelock manly hung

Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book iv. Line 297.

She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;

And humble cares, and delicate fears;

A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;

And love and thought and joy.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): The Sparrow's Nest.

Days of absence, sad and dreary,

Clothed in sorrow's dark array,—

Days of absence, I am weary:

She I love is far away.

Jean Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778): Days of Absence.

In part to blame is she,

Which hath without consent bin only tride:

He comes to neere that comes to be denide.

Sir Thomas Overbury (1581-1613): A Wife. St. 36.

She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd;

She is a woman, therefore may be won;

She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved.

What, man! more water glideth by the mill

Than wots the miller of; and easy it is

Of a cut loaf to steal a shive.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Titus Andronicus. Act ii. Sc. 1.

She's all my fancy painted her;

She's lovely, she's divine.

William Mee: Alice Gray.

She's all my fancy painted her;

She's lovely, she's divine.

William Mee: Alice Gray.

She is pretty to walk with,

And witty to talk with,

And pleasant, too, to think on.

Sir John Suckling (1609-1641): Brennoralt. Act ii.

She knows her man, and when you rant and swear,

Can draw you to her with a single hair.

John Dryden (1631-1701): Persius. Satire v. Line 246.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and oh

The difference to me!

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): She dwelt among the untrodden ways.

  Duke.  And what's her history?

  Vio.  A blank, my lord. She never told her love,

But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,

Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,

And with a green and yellow melancholy

She sat like patience on a monument,

Smiling at grief.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Whoe'er she be,

That not impossible she,

That shall command my heart and me.

Richard Crashaw (Circa 1616-1650): Wishes to his Supposed Mistress.

She that was ever fair and never proud,

Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Othello. Act ii. Sc. 1.

She was his life,

The ocean to the river of his thoughts,

Which terminated all.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: The Dream. Stanza 2.

First, then, a woman will or won't, depend on 't;

If she will do 't, she will; and there's an end on 't.

But if she won't, since safe and sound your trust is,

Fear is affront, and jealousy injustice.

Aaron Hill (1685-1750): Zara. Epilogue.

'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white

Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:

Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive

If you will lead these graces to the grave

And leave the world no copy.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.