Howe’er, ’tis well that, while man… Through fate’s perverse meander er… He can imagined pleasures find To combat against real cares. Fancies and notions he pursues,

To me ’twas given to die; to thee… To live: alas! one moment sets us… Mark! how impartial is the will of…

His lamp, his bow, and quiver laid… A rustic wallet o’er his shoulders… Sly Cupid, always on new mischief… To the rich field and furrow’d til… Like any ploughman toil’d the litt…

Reading ends in melancholy, Wine breeds vices and diseases, Wealth is but care, and love but f… Only friendship truly pleases. My wealth, my books, my flask, my…

I know that Fortune long has want… And therefore pardon’d when she di… But yet till then it never did app… That, as she wanted eyes, she coul… I begg’d that she would give me le…

Poor, little, pretty, fluttering t… Must we no longer live together? And dost thou prune thy trembling… To take thy flight thou know’st no… Thy humorous vein, thy pleasing fo…

Sly Merry Andrew, the last South… (At Bartholomew he did not much a… So peevish was the dict of the Ma… At Southwark, therefore, as his t… To please our masters, and his fri…

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,

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

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

Yes, every poet is a fool; By demonstration, Ned can show it… Happy could Ned’s inverted rule Prove every fool to be a poet.

WHAT nymph should I admire or tr… But Chloe beauteous, Chloe just? What nymph should I desire to see… But her who leaves the plain for m… To whom should I compose the lay,

Dear Chloe, how blubber’d is that… Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hai… Prythee quit this caprice; and (as… Let us e’en talk a little like fol… How canst thou presume, thou hast…

While faster than his costive brai… Philo’s quick hand in flowing lett… His case appears to me like honest… When he was run away with by his l… Phoebus, give Philo o’er himself…

Apollo. Abate, fair fugitive, abate thy sp… Dismiss thy fears, and turn thy be… With kind regard a panting lover v… Less swiftly fly, less swiftly I’…