#EnglishWriters
So Ceres, lovely and divine, Eager to see her Proserpine, Blessing the Nations as she pass’… Reach’d the fell Tyrant’s Court a… Around her shot a Gleam of Light,
Whilst Gay’s unhappy Fate thy Ea… Thy Heart, indignant, scorns his… Thy gen’rous Heart, which never l… A Friend or to deceive, or to bet… With Honour and Integrity so bles…
Eternal King, is there one Hour, To make me greatly bless’d? When shall I have it in my Pow’r To succour the Distress’d? In vain, alas! my Heart o’erflows
Children are snatch’d away sometim… To punish Parents for their Crime… Thy Mother’s Merit was so great, Heav’n hasten’d thy untimely Fate… To make her Character complete.
I beg your Scholar you’ll excuse, Who dares no more debase the Muse… My Mother says, If e’er she hears… I write again on worthless Peers, Whether they’re living Lords, or…
WELL you Sincerity display, A virtue wond’rous rare! Nor value, tho’ the world should s… You’re rude, so you’re sincere. To be sincere, then, give me leave…
Contented in my humble State, I look with Pity on the Great; Who only Birth, or Wealth, respec… And treat true Merit with neglect… O Pow’r supreme! let me implore
When I heard you were landed, I f… Intreating their Aid to invite yo… They told me, I came on that Erra… For you were engag’d by the Rich,… Already! said I; they were speedy…
Ierne’s now our royal Care: We lately fix’d our Vice—roy ther… How near was she to be undone, Till pious Love inspir’d her Son! What cannot our Vice—gerent do,
An Epigram You cry, She’s bred in the Old W… Then into Laughter fall: Were she as just to you, she’d say… You are not bred at all.
’Tis theirs, who but to please asp… On Fiction to employ the Lyre; Make Gods and Goddesses display The Splendor of the Nuptial Day. To paint thee at the hallow’d Shr…
Since Milo rallies sacred Writ, To win the Title of a Wit; ’Tis pity but he shou’d obtain it, Who bravely pays his Soul to gain…
As thro’ this sylvan Scene I stra… I saw and lov’d the Iv’ry Maid: And hearing that she fled from Ma… I begg’d this Form of mighty Pan; To try, by ev’ry winning Art,
The Britons, in their Nature shy, View Strangers with a distant Eye… We think them partial and severe; And judge their Manners by their… Are undeceiv’d by Time alone;
Not Persia’s Monarch could, unmov… Those num’rous Hosts, which Time… He wept Misfortunes of a distant… I mourn the Rigour of my instant… The dreaded Hour approaching fast…