Thou glorious Ruler of the beaute… Have sev’nteen Years so swiftly r… Hast thou so oft the heav’nly Cir… When scarce I thought thy radiant… Never shall I my fleeting Time re…

I hope, Sir, by this you have fou… In visiting Airy, and seeing his… If Froth can delight you, you’re… And we know it gives Joy on a Bot… Your Friend would be very much me…

Start not, nor tremble at the Sig… It comes not written from the Rea… ’Tis true, you see, your once—lov’… Thence may conclude from Heav’n s… Conscious perhaps of your celestia…

Where—e’er you go, some Actions s… Which make the Goodness of your M… Hibernia early saw those Seeds of… In your fair Breast, which now sh… Foresaw the Hopes you gave, matur…

Why, lovely Lelia, so depress’d? With wonted Smiles your Eyes ador… Drive gloomy Sorrow from your Bre… And shine out, beauteous, as the… The fair Pendarvis bid me try,

An Epigram You cry, She’s bred in the Old W… Then into Laughter fall: Were she as just to you, she’d say… You are not bred at all.

You say ’tis hard to copy well, Where Nature does herself excel. Allow’d—yet still let me advise: Near as you can, to Nature rise; Nor Time, nor Colours will be los…

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…

We of late had a terrible Rout in… If I happen’d to speak, I was sur… My Mamma had the Tooth—ach, and… O Steel, I for ever will yalue th… Both Children, and Servants, to t…

Should you employ your Ridicule, On those who Pity claim? Think, Birtha, is the native Fool For Wit a proper Theme? On Vice your hum’rous Vein displa…

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…

Obrian, were in Story told, Thy Ancestors wore Crowns of old: In fair Hibernia’s Isle they reig… A Country, by their Sons disdain’… Too apt to charge their Native Is…

Books, Pictures, Statues, here we… And each excelling in their Kind. Mead’s Taste in ev’ry Thing we vi… But chiefly in his Choice of You.

Tho’ Rhyme serves the Thoughts of… It sets off the Sense of small Po… When I’ve written in Prose, I of… That my Sense, in a Jumble of Wo… In Verse, as in Armies, that marc…

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