A Curious Statue, we are told, Is priz’d above its Weight in Gol… If the fair Form the Hand confess Of Phidias, or Praxiteles: But if the Artist could inspire

An Oak, with spreading Branches c… Beheld an Ivy on the Ground, Expos’d to ev’ry trampling Beast, That roam’d around the dreary Was… The Tree of Jove, in all his Sta…

Once Jupiter, from out the Skies, Beheld a thousand Temples rise; The Goddess Fortune all invok’d, To Jove an Altar seldom smoak’d: The God resolv’d to make Inspecti…

Say, my Hortensia, in this silent… When the pale Queen of Night exer… What Guardian—Angels on thy Slum… To paint the Glories of thy futur… To shew what Mansions, in the Rea…

O Charlotte, truly pious, early w… The Pleasures sought by others, y… Nor Bath, nor Bath’s Allurements… Unmov’d, you quit them to the Gay… But tho’ nor Health, nor Pleasure…

As in some wealthy, trading Town, Where Riches raise to fure Renown… The Man, with ample Sums in Stor… More than enough, yet wanting more… Bent on Abundance, first secures

You us’d me ill, and I withdrew, Intent on satirizing you. The Muses to my Aid I call; They came; and told me, one and al… That I mistook their Province qui…

’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…

O thou, with ev’ry Virtue grac’d, Adorn’d with Wit, and Sense, and… Who, with a Goodness unconfin’d, Delight’st in blessing human Kind… Whose Woes so oft thy Peace destr…

Dear Jack, whilst you thro’ Fland… Can you forget your Friends at Ho… Say, will your Tutors give you Ti… To write to Hereticks in Rhyme? A Name they brand us with, dear Y…

Children are snatch’d away sometim… To punish Parents for their Crime… Thy Mother’s Merit was so great, Heav’n hasten’d thy untimely Fate… To make her Character complete.

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…

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,

O wretch! hath Madness cur’d thy… Yes—All thy Sorrows now are light… No more you mourn your once lov’d… Who bravely perish’d for a thankle… For rolling Years thy Piety preva…

Return, brave Youth! suspend thy… Nor, like great Berwick, in the F… Illustrious Exile! thou art gone… Thy Toils, and various Dangers no… The royal Blood, which flow’d in…