If proud Pygmalion quit his cumbr… Funereal pomp the scanty tear supp… Whilst heralds loud, with venal vo… Lo! here the brave and the puissan… When humbler Alcon leaves his dro…

When bright Ophelia treads the gr… In all the pride of dress and mien… Averse to freedom, mirth and play, The lofty rival of the day; Methinks, to my enchanted eye,

When first, Philander, first I ca… Where Avon rolls his winding stre… The nymphs, how brisk, the swains,… To see Asteria, queen of May! The parsons round her praises sung…

From a lone tower, with reverend i… The pealing bell awaked a tender s… Still, as the village caught the w… A swelling tear distream’d from ev… So droop’d, I ween, each Briton’s…

I told my nymph, I told her true, My fields were small, my flocks we… While faltering accents spoke my f… That Flavia might not prove since… Of crops destroyed by vernal cold,

Again the labouring hind inverts t… Again the merchant ploughs the tum… Another spring renews the soldier’… And finds me vacant in the rural c… As the soft lyre display’d my wont…

At length fair Peace, with olive… Her lawful throne, and to the sacr… Of wood or fount the frighted Mus… Happy the bard who, from his nativ… Soft musing on a summer’s eve, sur…

Have you ne’er seen, my gentle Sq… The humours of your kitchen fire? Says Ned to Sal, 'I lead a spade… Why don’t ye play?-the girl’s afra… Play something-anything—but play—

Why will you my passion reprove? Why term it a folly to grieve? Ere I shew you the charms of my l… She is fairer than you can believe… With her mien she enamours the bra…

Urit spes animi credula mutui.-Ho… Imitation. Fond hope of a reciprocal desire Inflames the breast. ’Twas not by beauty’s aid alone

When bright Roxana treads the gre… In all the pride of dress and mien… Averse to freedom, love, and play, The dazzling rival of the day; None other beauty strikes mine eye…

How pleased within my native bower… Erewhile I pass’d the day! Was ever scene so deck’d with flow… Were ever flowers so gay? How sweetly smiled the hill, the v…

The western sky was purpled o’er With every pleasing ray; And flocks reviving felt no more The sultry heats of day; When from an hazel’s artless bower

O Health! capricious maid! Why dost thou shun my peaceful bow… Where I had hope to share thy pow… And bless thy lasting aid? Since thou, alas! art flown,

Of all that gives politeness birth… Of all that claims to please, In motion, manners, or in mirth, The surest source is ease. With silent step, and graceful air…