Health to my friend, and many a ch… Around his seat may peaceful shade… Smooth flow the minutes, fraught w… And, till they crown our union, ge… Ah me! too swiftly fleets our vern…

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…

[Somewhat Too Solicitious about… Survey, my fair! that lucid stream… Adown the smiling valley stray; Would Art attempt, or Fancy dream… To regulate its winding way?

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 droops this heart with fancied… Why sinks my soul beneath this win… What pensive crowds, by ceaseless… What myriads, wish to be as blesse… What though my roofs, devoid of po…

Thou sacred nymph! whose pious car… Pours from thine urn this mineral… Whose healing draughts, like cryst… In pleasing murmurs here distil. Who guid’st the stream, and joy’st…

No more the Muse obtrudes her thi… No more with awkward fallacy compl… How every fervour from my bosom fl… And Reason in her lonesome palace… Ere the chill winter of our days a…

Arbusta humilesque myricæ. Virg. Ye shepherds so chearful and gay, Whose flocks never carelessly roam… Should Corydon’s happen to stray, Oh! call the poor wanderers home.

To Mr. Graves, 1745. Ah me! what envious magic thins my… What mutter’d spell retards their… Such lessening fleeces must the sw… That e’er with Doric pipe essays…

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…

Hail curious wights, to whom so fa… The form of mortal flies is! Who deem those grubs beyond compar… Which common sense despises. Whether o’er hill, morass or mound…

The morn dispensed a dubious light… A sudden mist had stolen from sigh… Each pleasing vale and hill; When Damon left his humble bowers… To guard his flocks, to fence his…

Ask not the cause why this rebelli… Loads with fresh curses thy detest… Ask not, thus branded in my softes… Why stands the flatter’d name, whi… ’Tis not, that in my shed I lurk…

Ye gentle Nymphs and generous Dam… That rule o’er every British mind… Be sure ye soothe their amorous fl… Be sure your laws are not unkind: For hard it is to wear their bloom

My banks they are furnish’d with b… Whose murmur invites one to sleep; My grottos are shaded with trees, And my hills are white-over with s… I seldom have met with a loss,