Dear Rose, as I lately was writin… Which I next Day intended in Sch… My Mother came in, and I thought… ‘This Mr. Macmullen has ruin’d my… ‘He uses me ill, and the World sh…

Once Juno’s Bird (as Authors say… Was seiz’d on by some Birds of Pr… They pluck’d his Feathers, one by… Till all his useful Plumes were g… Stript him of ev’ry thing beside;

Your late kind Gift let me restor… For I must never wear it more. My Mother cries, 'What’s here to… ‘A Crimson Velvet Cap for you! ’If to these Heights so soon you…

See, in the Temple rais’d by Harl… His beauteous Off—spring at the A… There Mortimer resigns his darlin… To happy Portland gives the bloom… Where had the Parent’s Pray’r lik…

So little giv’n at Chapel Door!— This People doubtless must be poo… So much at Gaming thrown away!— No Nation sure so rich as they. Britons, ’twere greatly for your…

For fleeting Life recall’d, for H… Be first the God of Life and Hea… Whose boundless Mercy claims this… And next to Heav’n, I owe my Tha… To you, who feel the Ease your Me…

When lately you acquitted me, With Carteret I din’d; And, in Return, (tho’ grievous) t… To Onslow I resign’d. ’Tis wise the happy Hour to seize…

How gladly, Madam, would I go, To see your Gardens, and Chateau; From thence the fine Improvements… Or walk your verdant Avenue; Delighted, hear the Thrushes sing…

The Favours of Fortune I once ho… And often invok’d her, but ever in… She despis’d my Addresses, which… I flew to the Muses, in Hopes of… Ah Wretch that I was! I might ve…

In vain you shew a happy Nation, The Gospel’s gracious Dispensatio… And plead from thence, to bring up… To early Piety and Truth. To unattentive Ears you preach,

The Britons, in their Nature shy, View Strangers with a distant Eye… We think them partial and severe; And judge their Manners by their… Are undeceiv’d by Time alone;

This Present from a lovely Dame, Fair and unsully’d, as her Fame, Shall to Hibernia be convey’d, Where once, rever’d, her Father s… And taught the drooping Arts to s…

Ierne’s now our royal Care: We lately fix’d our Vice—roy ther… How near was she to be undone, Till pious Love inspir’d her Son! What cannot our Vice—gerent do,

Shall for the Man of Ross thy Ly… And sleeps illustrious Thanet yet… Since to distinguish Merit is thy… Let Thanet in thy deathless Prais… Let me, unequal to the Task, exci…

’Tis theirs, who but to please asp… On Fiction to employ the Lyre; Make Gods and Goddesses display The Splendor of the Nuptial Day. To paint thee at the hallow’d Shr…