Let me the Honour soon obtain, For which I long have hop’d in va… Since I, alas! am now confin’d, Your Visit would be doubly kind. What Sorrows have I not to fear,

Welcome, thou sacred, solemn Gues… Who com’st to guide me to the Ble… O Fountain of eternal Truth, Thou gracious Guardian of my Yout… True Wisdom to my Soul dispense,

I grieve to see you waste your Ti… And turn your Thoughts so much to… Be wise—your useless Views resign… And fly the fair, delusive Nine. I know, they try their wonted Art…

Tho’ great Longinus claims thy ai… And hopes, thro’ thee, t’instruct… Where vile Conceits the Pow’r of… And true Sublimity is lost in Sou… Where Folly, dress’d ten thousand…

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…

Dear Philomela, oft you condescen… With Notes seraphic, to transport… Then in Return, let Verse your S… Wise, as your Converse, rapt’rous…

Go, Jealousy, Tormentress dire; On Lovers only seize: In Love, like Winds, you fan the… And make it higher blaze. But Friendship’s calmer, purer Jo…

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;

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…

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…

Not Persia’s Monarch could, unmov… Those num’rous Hosts, which Time… He wept Misfortunes of a distant… I mourn the Rigour of my instant… The dreaded Hour approaching fast…

Lovely Armina, o’er her Books rec… Impairs her Body, to improve her… Of Wisdom fond, as others are of… In that Pursuit will sacrifice he… Then, Miser—like, when she has ga…

Since Phoebus makes your Verse di… Since the God glows in ev’ry Line… Why should you think, but I, with… Might write my native, artless La… My Mother told me many a Time,

How I succeed, you kindly ask; Yet set me on a grievous Task, When you oblige me to rehearse, The Censures past upon my Verse. Tho’ I with Pleasure may relate,

Ye gentle Beaux, and thoughtless… Who gaily rove at Tunbridge—Wells… With Pockets full; and empty Look… Raffling for ev’ry Toy—but Books: Should Addison’s immortal Page