Verses to accompany a portrait… Bright Martial Maid, Queen of th… The northern pole supports thy shi… Behold what furrows age and steel… The helmet’s weight oppressed this…

Damon come drive thy flocks this w… D. No: ’tis too late they went astray… I have a grassy Scutcheon spy’d, Where Flora blazons all her pride…

HOW vainly men themselves amaze To win the palm, the oak, or bays, And their uncessant labours see Crown’d from some single herb or t… Whose short and narrow-verged shad…

That Providence which had so long… Of Cromwell’s head, and numbred e… Now in its self (the Glass where… Had seen the period of his golden… And thenceforth onely did attend t…

Nempe sic innumero succrescunt agm… Saepia vix toto ut jam natet una m… Fortius assidui surgunt a vulnere… Quoque magis pressa est, auctior… Heu quibus Anticyris, quibus est…

Quis posthac chartae committat sen… Si sua crediderit Fata subesse st… Conscia si prodat Seribentis Lite… Quicquid & in vita plus latuis… Flexibus in calami tamen omnia spo…

Sir, Our times are much degenerate from… Which your sweet muse with your fa… And as complexions alter with the… Our wits have drawn the infection…

Now does Spains Fleet her spatiou… Leaves the new World and hastens… But though the wind was fair, the… Frayted with acted Guilt, and Gui… For this rich load, of which so pr…

How wisely Nature did decree, With the same Eyes to weep and se… That, having view’d the object vai… They might be ready to complain. And since the Self-deluding Sight…

Like the vain Curlings of the Wat… Which in smooth streams a sinking… So Man, declining alwayes, disapp… In the Weak Circles of increasing… And his short Tumults of themselv…

When for the Thorns with which I… With many a piercing wound, My Saviours head have crown’d, I seek with Garlands to redress t… Through every Garden, every Mead,

When I beheld the Poet blind, yet… In slender Book his vast Design u… Messiah Crown’d, Gods Reconcil’d… Rebelling Angels, the Forbidden… Heav’n, Hell, Earth, Chaos, All;…

Like the vain curlings of the wate… Which in smooth streams a sinking… So Man, declining always, disappe… In the weak circles of increasing… And his short tumults of themselve…

C’est de luy que nous vient cet A… De peindre la Parole, et deparler… Et, parles traits divers de figure… Donner de la couleur et du corps a…

As one put drunk into the Packet-… Tom May was hurry’d hence and did… But was amaz’d on the Elysian sid… And with an Eye uncertain, gazing… Could not determine in what place…