What can I say? What Arguments c… My Truth? What Colors can descri… If it’s Excess and Fury be not kn… In what Thy Celia has already don… Thy Infant Flames, whilst yet the…

I have no hopes, the Duke he says… In sure and certain hopes - the pr… Of these two learned peers, I pr’… Who is the lying knave, the priest… The Duke he stands an infidel con…

Democritus, dear droll, revisit ea… And with our follies glut thy heig… Sad Heraclitus, serious wretch, r… In louder grief our greater crimes… Between you both I unconcern’d st…

The merchant, to secure his treasu… Conveys it in a borrowed name: Euphelia serves to grace my measur… But Cloe is my real flame. My softest verse, my darling lyre

Lie Philo untouch’d, on my peacea… Nor take it amiss that so little… I’ve no envy to thee, and some lov… Then why should I answer since fi… Drunk with Helicon’s waters, and…

In vain, alas! poor Strephon trie… To ease his tortured breast, Since Amoret the cure denies, And makes his pain a jest. Ah! fair one, why to me so coy,

In vain you tell your parting love… You wish fair winds may waft him o… Alas! what winds can happy prove That bear me far from what I love… Alas! what dangers on the main

Dear Thomas, didst thou never pop Thy head into a tin-man’s shop? There, Thomas, didst thou never s… ('Tis but by way of simile) A squirrel spend his little rage

Cloe beauty has, and wit, And an air that is not common; Every charm in her does meet, Fit to make a handsome woman. But we do not only find

While we to Jove select the holy… Whom apter shall we sing than Jov… The god for ever great, for ever k… Who slew the earthborn race, and m… To heaven’s great 'habitants? Dic…

When famed Varelst this little wo… Flora vouchsafed the growing works… Finding the painter’s science at a… The goddess snatch’d the pencil fr… And finishing the piece, she smili…

Tway Mice, full Blythe and Amica… Batten beside Erle Robert’s Tabl… Lies there ne Trap their Necks to… Ne old black Cat their Steps to w… Their Fill they eat of Fowl and…

Strephonetta, why d’ye fly me, With such rigour in your eyes: Oh! ’tis cruel to deny me, Since your charms I so much prize… But I plainly see the reason

Some kind angel, gently flying, Moved with pity at my pain, Tell Corinna I am dying Till with joy we meet again. Tell Corinna, since we parted

Wiessen and nature held a long con… If she created or he painted best; With pleasing thought the wondrous… She still form’d fairer, he still… In these seven brethren they conte…