Her time with equal prudence Silv… First writes her billet-doux, then… Her mass and toilette, vespers, an… Thus God and Ashtaroth divide the… Constant she keeps her Ember-week…

Here reading how fond Adam was be… And how by sin Eve’s blasted char… Our common loss unjustly you compl… So small that part of it which you… You still, fair mother, in your 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…

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…

When great Augustus govern’d anci… And sent his conquering bands to f… Abroad when dreaded, and beloved a… He saw his fame increasing with hi… Horace, great bard, (so fate ordai…

Since by ill fate I’m forced away… And snatch’d so soon from those de… Against my will I must obey, And leave those sweet endearing ch… Yet still love on, and never fear

Haste, my Nannette, My lovely maid, Haste to the bower Thy swain has made. For thee alone

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

Tune. - ‘King John and the Abbot… I sing not old Jason who travell’… To kiss the fair maids and possess… Nor sing I AEneas, who, led by h… Got rid of one wife and went far f…

Alexis shun’d his Fellow Swains, Their rural Sports, and jocund St… (Heav’n guard us all from Cupid’s… He lost his Crook, He left his F… And wand’ring thro’ the lonely Ro…

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…

Of thy judicious Muse’s sense, Young Hinchinbroke so very proud… That Sacharissa and Hortense She looks henceforth upon as dowdi… Yet she to one must still submit,

Dictate, O mighty judge, what tho… Of cities and of courts, of books… And deign to let thy servant hold… Through ages, thus, I may presume… And from the transcript of thy pro…

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,

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.