ABSTRACT
Damnation follows Death in other Men Dear Col'nel! Cobham's and your Country's Friend! Dear, damn'd, distracting Town, farewell! Dear Mr. Cromwell, May it please ye! Descend ye Nine! descend and sing Did Milton's Prose, 0 Charles, thy Death defend? Dorset, the Grace of Courts, the Muses Pride
Each pretty Carecter with pleasing Smart
Fain would my Muse the flow'ry Treasures sing Fair charmer cease, nor make your voice's prize Fair Mirrour of foul Times! whose fragile Sheene Father of All! in every Age Fatis agimur, cedite fatis! Few words are best; I wish you well First in these Fields I try the Sylvan Strains Fly Pegascean Steed, thy Rider bear For whom thus rudely pleads my loud-tongu'd Gate Fraternal Rage, the guilty Thebes Alarms Friend! for your Epitaphs I'm griev'd From fair Symrethis and her Faunus came From hour to hour melodiously they chime
Go! fair Example of untainted youth Go tuneful bird, forbear to soar Goddess of Woods, tremendous in the chase Grown old in Rhyme, 'twere barbarous to discard
Hail, dear Collegiate, Fellow-Operator Hail sacred spring, whose fruitful stream Happy the man, whose wish and care He who beneath thy shelt'ring wing resides Here Francis Ch-s lies-Be civil! Here lies a round Woman, who thought mighty odd Here lies Lord Coningsby-be civil
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Here lies wrapt up in forty thousand towels Here lye two poor Lovers, who had the mishap Here lyes what had nor Birth, nor Shape, nor Fame Here rests a Woman, good without pretence Here, shunning idleness at once and praise Here, stopt by hasty Death, Alexis lies Here Withers rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind Heroes, and Kings! your distance keep His Eye-Balls burn, he wounds the smoaking Plain Honour and Wealth, the Joys we seek, deny How foolish Men on Expeditions goe! How much, egregious Moor, are we
I am his Highness' Dog at Kew I know the thing that's most uncommon I'd call them Mountains, but can't call them so If meagre Gildon draws his venal quill If modest Youth, with cool Reflection crown'd In Amaze In ev'ry Town, where Than1is rolls his Tyde In merry old England it once was a rule In Miniature see Nature's Po\ver appear In that soft Season when descending Showers In the Lines that you sent, are the lvfuses and Graces In these deep solitudes and awful cells In these gay Thoughts the Loves and Graces shine In this strange Town a different Course we take In unambitious silence be my lot In vain you boast Poetic Names of yore In Yorkshire dwelt a sober Yeoman I've often wish'd that I had clear
Jonathan Swift Jove call'd before him t'other Day Jove was alike to Latian and to Phrygian
Kneller, by Heav'n and not a Master taught
Lac'd in her Cosins new appear'd the Bride Lest you should think that Verse shall die Let Clarke make half his life the poor's support Let not the whigs our tory club rebuke
Mark by what wretched steps Great * * grows May THESE put Money in your Purse More always smiles whenever he recites Most true it is, I dare to say Muse, 'tis enough: at length thy labour ends My Ld. complains, that P-(stark mad with Gardens)
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My Lord, forsake your Politick Utopians My Pylades! what Juv'nal says, no Jest is
Nature, and Nature's Laws lay hid in Night Nothing so true as what you once let fall 'Not to Admire, is all the Art I k..110W Not twice a twelve month you appear in Print Now Europe's balanc'd, neither Side prevails N ow wits gain praise by copying other wits Nymph of the Grot, these sacred Springs I keep
o all-accomplish'd Cresar! on thy Shelf o fairest Pattern to a failing Age! o Nash! more blest in ev'ry other thing o Reader, if that thou canst read o Thou, whose all-creating hands sustain o wretched B-, jealous now of all Of gentle Philips will I ever sing Of Manners gentle, of Affections mild Oh be thou blest with all that Heav'n can send Oh tyrant Love I hast thou possest On Sunday at Six, in the Street that's call'd Gerrard Once in his Life M-re judges right Once (says an Author, where, I need not say) One day I mean to Fill Sir Godfry's tomb One that should be a Saint Ozell, at Sanger's Call, invok'd his Muse
Pallas grew vap'rish once and odd Parson, these Things in thy possessing Peter complains, that God has given Phryne had Talents for Mankind Pleas'd in these lines, Belinda, you may view Prodigious this! the Frail one of our Play
Quoth Gibber to Pope, tho' in Verse you foreclose
Resign'd to live, prepar'd to die
St. John, whose love indulg'd my labours past Say, lovely Youth, that dost my Heart command Says Gibber to Pope ... (see Quoth Gibber to Pope •••) See how the sun in dusky skies See the wild Waste of all-devouring years! See who ne'er was or will be half read! Shall Royal praise be rhym'd by such a ribald She drinks! She drinks! Behold the matchless Dame!
