THE shepherds and the nymphs were… Pleading before the Cyprian Queen… The counsel for the fair began Accusing the false creature, man. The brief with weighty crimes was…

The Dean would visit Market-hill; Our invitation was but slight; I said—why—Let him if he will, And so I bid Sir Arthur write. His manners would not let him wait…

LET me thy properties explain: A rotten cabin dropping rain: Chimneys, with scorn rejecting smo… Stools, tables, chairs, and bedste… Here elements have lost their uses…

Daphne knows, with equal ease, How to vex, and how to please; But the folly of her sex Makes her sole delight to vex. Never woman more devised

DERMOT, SHEELAH A Nymph and swain, Sheelah and D… Who wont to weed the court of Gos… While each with stubbed knife remo… That raised between the stones the…

The Dean would visit Market-Hill… Our invitation was but slight; I said ‘Why let him, if he will:’ And so I bade Sir Arthur write. His manners would not let him wait…

“His Grace! impossible! what, dea… Of old age too, and in his bed! And could that mighty warrior fall… And so inglorious, after all? Well, since he’s gone, no matter h…

When Naboth’s vineyard look’d so… The king cried out, ‘Would this w… And yet no reason could prevail To bring the owner to a sale. Jezebel saw, with haughty pride,

Never sleeping, still awake, Pleasing most when most I speak; The delight of old and young, Though I speak without a tongue. Nought but one thing can confound…

Returning Janus now prepares, For Bec, a new supply of cares, Sent in a bag to Dr. Swift, Who thus displays the new-year’s g… First, this large parcel brings yo…

THUS spoke to my lady the knight… “Let me have your advice in a weig… This Hamilton’s bawn[2], while it… I lose by the house what I get by… But how to dispose of it to the be…

We both are mortal; but thou, frai… May’st die, like me, by chance, bu…

Sure never did man see A wretch like poor Nancy, So teazed day and night By a Dean and a Knight. To punish my sins,

TO THE LORD TREASURER… 1710 Atlas, we read in ancient song, Was so exceeding tall and strong, He bore the skies upon his back,

Ye poets ragged and forlorn, Down from your garrets haste; Ye rhymers, dead as soon as born, Not yet consign’d to paste; I know a trick to make you thrive;