'Tis strange, the miser should his… To gain those riches he can ne’er… Is it less strange, the prodigal s… His wealth to purchase what he ne’… Not for himself he sees, or hears,…
Parson, these things in thy posses… Are better than the Bishop’s bles… A Wife that makes conserves; a St… That carries double when there’s n… October store, and best Virginia,
Of Manners gentle, of Affections… In Wit, a Man; Simplicity, a Chi… With native Humour temp’ring virt… Form’d to delight at once and lash… Above Temptation, in a low Estate…
While Celia’s Tears make sorrow b… Proud Grief sits swelling in her… The Sun, next those the fairest l… Thus from the Ocean first did ris… And thus thro’ Mists we see the S…
Tho’ Artemisia talks, by fits, Of councils, classics, fathers, wi… Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Loc… Yet in some things methinks she fa… 'Twere well if she would pare her…
Thou art my God, sole object of m… Not for the hope of endless joys a… Nor for the fear of endless pains… Which they who love thee not must… For me, and such as me, thou deign…
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
Two or three visits, and two or th… Two or three civil things, two or… Two or three kisses, with two or t… Two or three Jesus’s– and let me… Two or three squeezes, and two or…
Come gentle Air! th’ AEolian she… While Procris panted in the secre… Come, gentle Air, the fairer Deli… While at her feet her swain expiri… Lo the glad gales o’er all her bea…
But our Great Turks in wit must r… And ill can bear a Brother on the… II Wit is like faith by such warm Fo… Who to be saved by one, must damn…
First in these fields I try the s… Nor blush to sport on Windsor’s b… Fair Thames, flow gently from thy… While on thy banks Sicilian Muses… Let vernal airs tho’ trembling osi…
Not with more glories, in th’ ethe… The sun first rises o’er the purpl… Than, issuing forth, the rival of… Launch’d on the bosom of the silve… Fair nymphs, and well—dress’d yout…
Father of all! in every age, In every clime adored, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord! Thou Great First Cause, least un…
When simple Macer, now of high re… First fought a Poet’s Fortune in… 'Twas all th’ Ambition his high s… To wear red stockings, and to dine… Some Ends of verse his Betters mi…
She said, and for her lost Calant… When the fair Consort of her son… 'Since you a servant’s ravish’d fo… And kindly sigh for sorrows not yo… Let me (if tears and grief permit)…