#Augustan
Women ben full of Ragerie, Yet swinken not sans secresie. Thilke Moral shall ye understond, From Schoole—boy’s Tale of fayre… Which to the Fennes hath him beta…
Fain would my Muse the flow’ry Tr… And humble glories of the youthful… Where opening Roses breathing swe… And soft Carnations show’r their… Where Lilies smile in virgin robe…
While you, great patron of mankind… The balanc’d world, and open all t… Your country, chief, in arms abroa… At home, with morals, arts, and la… How shall the Muse, from such a m…
In beauty, or wit, No mortal as yet To question your empire has dared: But men of discerning Have thought that in learning
‘Sir, I admit your general rule, That every poet is a fool. But you yourself may serve to show… Every fool is not a poet.’
She said: the pitying audience mel… But Fate and Jove had stopp’d the… In vain Thalestris with reproach… For who can move when fair Belind… Not half so fix’d the Trojan coul…
Phryne had talents for mankind, Open she was, and unconfin’d, Like some free port of trade: Merchants unloaded here their frei… And Agents from each foreign stat…
Celia, we know, is sixty—five, Yet Celia’s face is seventeen; Thus winter in her breast must liv… While summer in her face is seen. How cruel Celia’s fate, who hence
Pallas grew vapourish once, and od… She would not do the least right t… Either for goddess, or for god, Nor work, nor play, nor paint, nor… Jove frown’d, and, ‘Use,’ he crie…
Flutt’ring spread thy purple Pini… Gentle Cupid, o’er my Heart; I a Slave in thy Dominions; Nature must give Way to Art. II.
Lycidas. Thyrsis, the music of that murm’ri… Is not so mournful as the strains… Nor rivers winding thro’ the vales… So sweetly warble, or so smoothly…
To one fair lady out of Court, And two fair ladies in, Who think the Turk and Pope a spo… And wit and love no sin! Come, these soft lines, with nothi…
Dear, damn’d distracting town, far… Thy fools no more I’ll tease: This year in peace, ye critics, dw… Ye harlots, sleep at ease! Soft B—and rough C—s adieu,
Ye nymphs of Solyma! begin the so… To heavenly themes sublimer strain… The mossy fountains, and the sylva… The dreams of Pindus, and the Aon… Delight no more —O thou, my voice…
Resign’d to live, prepar’d to die, With not one sin, but poetry, This day Tom’s fair account has r… (Without a blot) to eighty—one. Kind Boyle, before his poet, lays
