Within this sober Frame expect Work of no Forrain Architect; That unto Caves the Quarries drew… And Forrests did to Pastures hew; Who of his great Design in pain

SEE with what simplicity    This nymph begins her golden da…    In the green grass she loves to…    And there with her fair aspect…    The wilder flowers, and gives t…

After two sittings, now our Lady… To end her picture does the third… But ere thou fall’st to work, firs… If’t ben’t too slight grown or too… Canst thou paint without colors?…

Now does Spains Fleet her spatiou… Leaves the new World and hastens… But though the wind was fair, the… Frayted with acted Guilt, and Gui… For this rich load, of which so pr…

Alas, how pleasant are their dayes With whom the Infant Love yet pla… Sorted by pairs, they still are se… By Fountains cool, and Shadows gr… But soon these Flames do lose the…

How vainly men themselves amaze To win the Palm, the Oke, or Bay… And their uncessant Labours see Crown’d from some single Herb or… Whose short and narrow verged Sha…

Quisnam adeo, mortale genus, praec… Heu Palmae, Laurique furor, vel s… Arbor ut indomitos ornet vix una l… Tempora nec foliis praecingat tota… Dum simud implexi, tranquillae ad…

The wanton troopers riding by Have shot my fawn, and it will die… Ungentle men! They cannot thrive To kill thee. Thou ne’er didst, a… Them any harm: alas nor could

Ingeniosa Viris contingunt Nomina… Ut dubites Casu vel Ratione data. Nam Sors, caeca licet, tamen est… Et sub fatidico Nomine vera premi… Et Tu, cui soli voluit Respublica…

Translated. Senec. Traged. ex Thyeste Chor.2… Stet quicunque volet potens Aulae culmine lubrico &c. Climb at Court for me that will

Courage my Soul, now learn to wie… The weight of thine immortal Shie… Close on thy Head thy Helmet brig… Ballance thy Sword against the Fi… See where an Army, strong as fair…

See how the Orient Dew, Shed from the Bosom of the Morn Into the blowing Roses, Yet careless of its Mansion new; For the clear Region where ’twas…

Dorinda When Death, shall snatch us from… And shut up our divided Lids, Tell me Thyrsis, prethee do, Whither thou and I must go.

An Horatian Ode upon Cromwell… The forward youth that would appea… Must now forsake his muses dear, Nor in the shadows sing, His numbers languishing.

Like the vain curlings of the wate… Which in smooth streams a sinking… So Man, declining always, disappe… In the weak circles of increasing… And his short tumults of themselve…