I with borrow’d silver shine What you see is none of mine. First I show you but a quarter, Like the bow that guards the Tart… Then the half, and then the whole,

In youth exalted high in air, Or bathing in the waters fair, Nature to form me took delight, And clad my body all in white. My person tall, and slender waist,

TO THE LORD TREASURER… 1710 Atlas, we read in ancient song, Was so exceeding tall and strong, He bore the skies upon his back,

At Market-Hill, as well appears By chronicle of ancient date, There stood for many hundred years A spacious thorn before the gate. Hither came every village maid,

This day, whate’er the Fates decr… Shall still be kept with joy by me… This day then let us not be told, That you are sick, and I grown ol… Nor think on our approaching ills,

The Dean would visit Market-Hill… Our invitation was but slight; I said ‘Why let him, if he will:’ And so I bade Sir Arthur write. His manners would not let him wait…

There is a gate, we know full well… That stands 'twixt Heaven, and Ea… Where many for a passage venture, Yet very few are fond to enter: Although ’tis open night and day,

From London to Exon, By special direction, Came down the world’s wonder, Sir Salathiel Blunder, With a quoif on his head

From a town that consists of a chu… With three or four houses, and as… There went an Address in great fo… Composed, as ’tis said, by Will C… And thus it began to an excellent…

Corinna, Pride of Drury-Lane, For whom no Shepherd sighs in vai… Never did Covent Garden boast So bright a batter’d, strolling T… No drunken Rake to pick her up,

This day (the year I dare not tel… Apollo play’d the midwife’s part; Into the world Corinna fell, And he endued her with his art. But Cupid with a Satyr comes;

Because I am by nature blind, I wisely choose to walk behind; However, to avoid disgrace, I let no creature see my face. My words are few, but spoke with s…

Midas, we are in story told, Turn’d every thing he touch’d to g… He chipp’d his bread; the pieces r… Glitter’d like spangles on the gro… A codling, ere it went his lip in,

We are little airy creatures, All of different voice and feature… One of us in glass is set, One of us you’ll find in jet. T’other you may see in tin,

Spite of Dutch friends and Englis… Poor Britain shall have peace at… Holland got towns, and we got blow… But Dunkirk’s ours, we’ll hold it… We have got it in a string,