I am his Highness’ dog at Kew; Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are y…
Descend ye Nine! descend and sing… The breathing instruments inspire, Wake into voice each silent string… And sweep the sounding lyre! In a sadly—pleasing strain
Oh be thou blest with all that He… Long Health, long Youth, long Pl… Not with those Toys the female wo… Riches that vex, and Vanities tha… With added years if Life bring no…
She said, and for her lost Calant… When the fair Consort of her son… 'Since you a servant’s ravish’d fo… And kindly sigh for sorrows not yo… Let me (if tears and grief permit)…
'Tis hard to say, if greater want… Appear in writing or in judging il… But, of the two, less dang’rous is… To tire our patience, than mislead… Some few in that, but numbers err…
Celia, we know, is sixty—five, Yet Celia’s face is seventeen; Thus winter in her breast must liv… While summer in her face is seen. How cruel Celia’s fate, who hence
Ye shades, where sacred truth is s… Groves, where immortal Sages taug… Where heav’nly visions of Plato f… And Epicurus lay inspir’d! In vain your guiltless laurels sto…
To one fair lady out of Court, And two fair ladies in, Who think the Turk and Pope a spo… And wit and love no sin! Come, these soft lines, with nothi…
Lycidas. Thyrsis, the music of that murm’ri… Is not so mournful as the strains… Nor rivers winding thro’ the vales… So sweetly warble, or so smoothly…
True ease in writing comes from ar… As those move easiest who have lea… 'Tis not enough no harshness gives… The sound must seem an echo to the… Soft is the strain when Zephyr ge…
Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose field…
Thy forests, Windsor! and thy gre… At once the Monarch’s and the Mus… Invite my lays. Be present, sylva… Unlock your springs, and open all… Granville commands; your aid O Mu…
While you, great patron of mankind… The balanc’d world, and open all t… Your country, chief, in arms abroa… At home, with morals, arts, and la… How shall the Muse, from such a m…
Here, shunning idleness at once an… This radiant pile nine rural siste… The glittering emblem of each spot… Clear as her soul and shining as h… Beauty which nature only can impar…
Dear, damn’d distracting town, far… Thy fools no more I’ll tease: This year in peace, ye critics, dw… Ye harlots, sleep at ease! Soft B—and rough C—s adieu,