When Ruin threaten’d me of late, With all its ghastly Train; Some Pow’r, in Pity to my Fate, Sent bountiful Germain, Her Soul is mov’d with my Distres…

Tell me, my Patroness, and Friend… Can Age Parnassian Heights ascen… Sweet Poesy’s light Footsteps tra… Ah no! I must give up the Chace: When Time the Head hath silver’d…

A mother, who vast Pleasure finds In modelling her Childrens Minds; With whom, in exquisite Delight, She passes many a Winter Night; Mingles in ev’ry Play, to find

Fair Innocence, the Muses lovelic… On Acts of Mercy sound thy rising… Let others from frail Beauty hope… Plead thou the Fatherless, and Wi… Fly to your Mother; let each winn…

Remote from Strife, from urban Th… Here dwells my Soul amidst domest… No ratling Coaches serious Though… Nor busy prating Fools my Peace d… Wrapt up in all the Sweets of rur…

And will your Goodness never have… And will you still persist to be m… To meet me still with that engagin… Still open, ardent, gen’rous, and… Still to advise, to aid, to cheer,…

Uncommon Charms, I plainly see, Compleat the Fair for Tyranny. Then, lest your Form should make… Of Conquest, and of giving Pain, Those, whom your Beauties have en…

You us’d me ill, and I withdrew, Intent on satirizing you. The Muses to my Aid I call; They came; and told me, one and al… That I mistook their Province qui…

Hither, amongst the Crouds, that… The smoaky Town, and sultry Sun, In cooling Springs to seek for He… Or throw away superfluous Wealth, A Native of Hibernia came,

No more at Criticks, Ned, repine, Who say those Numbers are not thi… I own I was suspicious too, And thought the Verse too good fo… But since you say those Lines you…

A courtier, summon’d hence of late… Was call’d to Minos’ Judgment Se… The Cretan Sage began the Charge… Recounted all his Crimes at large… His Insincerity, and Pride,

To the late King of Britain a Sa… Which wild in the Woods of German… This Present so princely was trai… And knew how to eat, and to jump,… The Beaux, and the Belles, beheld…

To the Right Hon. the Lady Carte… Weary’d with long Attendance on t… You, Madam, are the Wretch’s last… Eternal King! if here in vain I c… Where shall the Fatherless and Wi…

Since Milo rallies sacred Writ, To win the Title of a Wit; ’Tis pity but he shou’d obtain it, Who bravely pays his Soul to gain…

Written when the Author was sick. Somnus, pow’rful Deity, Mortals owe their Bliss to thee. How long shall I thy Absence mour… And when be bless’d in thy Return…