(Written in the last reign.)
#EnglishWriters
What’s Life still changing ev’ry… Tis all the seasons in a Day! The Smile, the Tear, the Sun, th… Tis now December, now tis May At morn we hail some envied Queen…
In days of yore, as Ancient Stori… A King in love with a great Princ… Long at her feet submiss the Mona… While she with stern repulse his s… Yet was he form’d by birth to plea…
Thou too art dead, ——! very kind Hast thou been to me in my childis… Thou best good creature. I have n… How thou didst love thy Charles,… A prating school—boy: I have not…
Hold on thy course uncheck’d, hero… Regardless what the player’s son m… Saint Stephens’ fool, the Zany of… Who nothing generous ever understo… London’s twice Prætor! scorn the…
The Lord of Life shakes off his d… And 'gins to sprinkle on the earth… Those rays that from his shaken lo… Meantime, by truant love of rambli… I turn my back on thy detested wal…
Alone, obscure, without a friend, A cheerless, solitary thing, Why seeks, my Lloyd, the stranger… What offering can the stranger bri… Of social scenes, home—bred deligh…
A little boy with crumbs of bread Many a hungry sparrow fed. It was a child of little sense, Who this kind bounty did dispense; For suddenly it was withdrawn,
Horatio, of ideal courage vain, Was flourishing in air his father’… And, as the fumes of valour swelle… Now thought himself this hero, and… ‘And now,’ he cried, 'I will Achi…
SISTER. I am to write three lines, and you Three others that will rhyme. There—now I’ve done my task. BROTHER.
Henry was every morning fed With a full mess of milk and bread… One day the boy his breakfast took… And eat it by a purling brook Which through his mother’s orchard…
When beasts by words their meaning… Some well—dressed men and women di… To gaze upon two monkeys at a fair… And one who was the spokesman in t… Said, in their countenance you mig…
JANE. Mamma is displeased and looks very… And I own, brother, I was to blam… Just now when I told her I wanted… Like Miss Lydia, a very fine name…
My neat and pretty book, when I t… They seem for any use to be unfit… My writing, all misshaped, uneven… Within this narrow space can hardl… Yet I will strive to make my hand…
Arrayed—a half angelic sight— In nests of pure baptismal white, The mother to the font doth bring The little, helpless, nameless thi… With hushes soft, and mild caressi…
I am a widow’d thing, now thou art… Now thou art gone, my own familiar… Companion, sister, help—mate, coun… Alas! that honour’d mind, whose sw… And meekest wisdom in times past h…