Celia and I the other Day Walk’d o’er the Sand-Hills to the… The setting Sun adorn’d the Coast… His Beams entire, his Fierceness… And, on the Surface of the Deep,

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…

Once on a time, in sunshine weathe… Falsehood and Truth walk’d out to… The neighbouring woods and lawns t… As opposites will sometimes do: Through many a blooming mead they…

By Sylvia if thy charming self be… If friendship be thy virgin vows’… O! let me in Aminta’s praises joi… Hers my esteem shall be, my passio… When for thy head the garland I p…

Dear Cloe, how blubber’d is that… Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hai… Pr’ythee quit this caprice; and (a… Let us e’en talk a little like fol… How can’st thou presume, thou hast…

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…

Whilst others proclaim This nymph or that swain, Dearest Nelly the lovely I’ll sin… She shall grace every verse, I’ll her beauties rehearse,

Poor Hal caught his death standin… Expecting till midnight when Nan… But fatal his patience, as cruel t… And cursed was the weather that qu… Whoe’er thou art that reads these…

In one great now, superior to an age, The full extremes of nature’s forc… How heavenly virtue can exalt, or… Infernal how degrade the human min…

That all from Adam first began, None but ungodly Whiston doubts, And that his son and his son’s son Were all but ploughmen, clowns, an… Each when his rustic pains began

When future ages shall with wonder… These glorious lines which Harley… They shall confess that Britain c… A fairer column to the father’s pr…

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

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…

Touch the lyre, touch every string… Touch it, Orpheus; I will sing A song which shall immortal be, Since she I sing’s a deity; A Leonora, whose bless’d birth