Thus to the Muses spoke the Cypri… Adorn my altars, and revere my nam… My son shall else assume his poten… Twang goes the bow; my girls have… The Muses answer’d Venus, We der…

THE merchant, to secure his treas…    Conveys it in a borrow’d name: Euphelia serves to grace my measur…    But Chloe is my real flame. My softest verse, my darling lyre,

Dum studeo fungi fallentis munere… Adfectoque viam sedibus Elysiis Arctoa florens sophia, Samiisque… Discipulis, animas morte carere ca… Has ego corporibus profugas ad sid…

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…

Morella, charming without art, And kind without design, Can never lose the smallest part Of such a heart as mine. Obliged a thousand several ways,

You, Madam, may, with safety go Decrees of destiny to know; For at your birth kind planets rei… And certain happiness ordain’d: Such charms as yours are only give…

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…

Bless’d be the princes who have fo… For pompous names or wide dominion… Since by their error we are taught That happiness is but opinion.

The bewailing of man’s miseries hath been elegantly and copiously set forth by many, in the writings as well of philosophers as divines; and it is both a pleasant and a profitable conte...

When Cloe’s Picture was to Venus… Surpriz’d, the Goddess took it fo… And what, said She, does this bol… When was I Bathing thus, and Nak… Pleas’d Cupid heard, and check’d…

Beneath a Myrtle’s verdant Shade As Cloe half asleep was laid, Cupid perch’d lightly on Her Brea… And in That Heav’n desir’d to res… Over her Paps his Wings He sprea…

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…

How old may Phyllis be, you ask, Whose beauty thus all hearts engag… To answer is no easy task; For she has really two ages. Stiff in brocard, and pinch’d in s…

Behind an unfrequented glade, Where yew and myrtle MIX their s… A widow Turtle pensive sat, And wept her murder’d lover’s fate… The Sparrow chanced that way to w…

How long, deluded Albion, wilt th… In the lethargic sleep, the sad re… By which thy close thy constant en… Has softly lull’d thee to thy woes… Or wake, degenerate isle, or cease…