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…

Tho’ the Muse had deny’d me so of… I ventur’d this Day to invoke her… She ask’d what I wanted; I said,… Your Lordship had promis’d to sup… That on an Occasion so much to my…

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

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…

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…

Eternal King, is there one Hour, To make me greatly bless’d? When shall I have it in my Pow’r To succour the Distress’d? In vain, alas! my Heart o’erflows

With Joy your Summons we obey, And come to celebrate this Day. Yet I, alas! despair to please; For you require exalted Lays: And, let me write whate’er I will…

So Ceres, lovely and divine, Eager to see her Proserpine, Blessing the Nations as she pass’… Reach’d the fell Tyrant’s Court a… Around her shot a Gleam of Light,

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;

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…

Believe me, Rose, howe’er this Co… With flowing Numbers, and an easy… With Wit, with Humour, and with e… That steals the Ear, and ravishes… Howe’er his Verses are with Raptu…

When I heard you were landed, I f… Intreating their Aid to invite yo… They told me, I came on that Erra… For you were engag’d by the Rich,… Already! said I; they were speedy…

I beg your Scholar you’ll excuse, Who dares no more debase the Muse… My Mother says, If e’er she hears… I write again on worthless Peers, Whether they’re living Lords, or…

This mourning Mother can with Eas… The Arts of Latium, and the Grec… Was early learn’d, nay more, was e… And knew the Pride of Science to… Left Men to take assuming Airs fr…

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…