The things that Mortals love are… & swiftly transient fleet befo… Or if with man a longer while they… Man swiftly transient fleets himse…

Where waving Pines the brows of I… The swain young Paris half supine… Saw the loose Flocks thro’ shrubs… And Piping call’d them to the gla… ’Twas there he met the Message of…

Gay Bacchus liking B—s wine A noble meal bespoke & for ye guests that were to d… Brought Comus Love & Joke The God near Cupid drew his chair

How bless’d the man, how fully so, As far as man is bless’d below, Who taking up his cross essays To follow Jesus all his days, With resolution to obey,

Thanks to the friend whose happy l… In Derry’s oaten soil frozen air When to the Citty late I bid fare… Beneath my firm resolves my scribl… The Ghost of my departed Muse you…

For Nothing Lucy never plays ye w… Thats true’€”for Lucy ever pays b…

As Bacchus ranging at his leisure… (Io Bacchus! king of pleasure) Charm’d the wide world with drink… And all his thousand airy fancies; Alas! he quite forgot the while

Mourn widdowd Iland, Mourn, your… Mourn ye unhappy flocks your Shea… Around your grief in dolefull stra… & Lett ym in sad Eccho’s dy a… As sympathising wth their masters…

The Persians us’d at setting of y… To howl, as if he nere again shoul… They onely acted it but we indeed Must doot for all that lovely was… all that was great good Just &…

With kind compassion hear my cry O Jesu, Lord of life, on high! As when the Summer’s seasons beat With scorching flame and parching… The trees are burnt, the flowers f…

In vain, poor Nymph, to please ou… You sleep in cream and frontlets a… Your face with patches soil, with… Dress with gay gowns, and shade wi… If truth in spight of manners must…

The Man whose Judgement Joynd wi… The lives of Popes & lives of… Who sung true Pleasure showd ye G… And taught Wild Youth to shun ye… Who wrote all this—Who more than…

Think England what it is to shake… & better use your King, His power raisd the frozen snake, & Must he when he hears it spe… find how the tongue can sting?

Where Creditors their bankrupt de… Where men for want of coin to dura… & are for being wretched made… Where poor W—G—could months abide When all his creditt would not him…

Mother of plenty, daughter of the… Sweet Peace, the troubl’d world’s… Around thy poet weave thy summer s… Within my fancy spread thy flow’ry… Amongst thy train soft ease and pl…