Remote from Strife, from urban Th… Here dwells my Soul amidst domest… No ratling Coaches serious Though… Nor busy prating Fools my Peace d… Wrapt up in all the Sweets of rur…

O thou, with ev’ry Virtue grac’d, Adorn’d with Wit, and Sense, and… Who, with a Goodness unconfin’d, Delight’st in blessing human Kind… Whose Woes so oft thy Peace destr…

As in some wealthy, trading Town, Where Riches raise to fure Renown… The Man, with ample Sums in Stor… More than enough, yet wanting more… Bent on Abundance, first secures

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,

We of late had a terrible Rout in… If I happen’d to speak, I was sur… My Mamma had the Tooth—ach, and… O Steel, I for ever will yalue th… Both Children, and Servants, to t…

See, the bright Sun renews his an… Each Beam re—tinges, and revives… By Years uninjur’d; so may’st tho… Not Time from thee, but thou from… O might the Fates thy vital Threa…

Ye heedless Fair, who pass the li… In Dress and Scandal, Gallantry… Who thro’ new Scenes of Pleasure… Whilst Life’s important Business… Look here, when guilty Conquests…

With Joy your Summons we obey, And come to celebrate this Day. Yet I, alas! despair to please; For you require exalted Lays: And, let me write whate’er I will…

When Athens was for Arts and Arm… Olympic Wreaths uncommon Merit cr… These slight Distinctions from th… Convey’d eternal Honour with the… ’Twas this, the gen’rous Love of…

To the late King of Britain a Sa… Which wild in the Woods of German… This Present so princely was trai… And knew how to eat, and to jump,… The Beaux, and the Belles, beheld…

Uncommon Charms, I plainly see, Compleat the Fair for Tyranny. Then, lest your Form should make… Of Conquest, and of giving Pain, Those, whom your Beauties have en…

May each new Year some new Perfec… Till all the Mother in the Daught… May’st Thou her Virtues to the W… And be what Henrietta was before! And when revolving Years mature t…

Say, my Hortensia, in this silent… When the pale Queen of Night exer… What Guardian—Angels on thy Slum… To paint the Glories of thy futur… To shew what Mansions, in the Rea…

Your late kind Gift let me restor… For I must never wear it more. My Mother cries, 'What’s here to… ‘A Crimson Velvet Cap for you! ’If to these Heights so soon you…

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…