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

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…

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,

Let Others speak your Titles, and… Accept from Me the glorious Name… This Honour only from fair Virtue… Ennobles Slaves, adds Dignity to… O Born to shew Nobility design’d

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…

I little thought that honest Dick Would slight me so, when I was si… Is he a Friend, who only stays, Whilst Health and Pleasure gild o… Flies, when Disease our Temper so…

Faint—Fair, and act a Play. In some few Hours we must repair, To act, like Thespis, in the Fair… And, as our Stage is of a Piece With that transmitted down from G…

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,

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,…

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.

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…

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…

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…

Sincerity, what are thy Views; No more my Breast attend. By thee, alas! we often lose, But seldom gain a Friend. No more with dang’rous Zeal presu…