From publick Noise and factious S… From all the busie Ills of Life, Take me, My Celia, to Thy Breast… And lull my wearied Soul to Rest: For ever, in this humble Cell,

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…

While blooming youth and gay delig… Sit on thy rosy cheeks confess’d, Thou hast, my dear, undoubted righ… To triumph o’er this destined brea… My reason bends to what thy eyes o…

The pride of every grove I chose, The violet sweet and lily fair, The dappled pink and blushing rose… To deck my charming Cloe’s hair. At morn the nymph vouchsafed to pl…

The sturdy man, if he in love obta… In open pomp and triumph reigns: The subtle woman, if she should su… Disowns the honour of the deed. Though he for all his boast is for…

In Heav’n, one Holy-day, You rea… In wise Anacreon, Ganymede Drew heedless Cupid in, to throw A Main, to pass an Hour, or so. The little Trojan, by the way,

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

Resolve Me, Cloe, what is This: Or forfeit me One precious Kiss. ’Tis the first Off-spring of the… Bears diff’rent Forms in diff’ren… Acknowledg’d fine, where-e’er behe…

Recit. Beneath a verdant laurel’s ample s… His lyre to mournful numbers strun… Horace, immortal bard supinely lai… To Venus thus address’d the song;

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

I, MY dear, was born to-day— So all my jolly comrades say: They bring me music, wreaths, and… And ask to celebrate my birth: Little, alas! my comrades know

Dear Howard, from the soft assaul… Poets and painters never are secur… Can I untouch’d the fair one’s pa… Or thou draw beauty, and not feel… To great Appelles when young Ammo…

Did sweeter Sounds adorn my flowi… Than ever Man pronounc’d, or Ange… Had I all Knowledge, Human and D… That Thought can reach, or Scienc… And had I Pow’r to give that Kno…

When you with High-Dutch Heeren… Expect false Latin and stum’d win… They never taste who always drink; They always talk who never think.

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.