Prometheus, forming Mr. Day, Carved something like a man in cla… The mortal’s work might well misca… He that does heaven and earth cont… Has only power to form a soul;

Bless’d be the princes who have fo… For pompous names or wide dominion… Since by their error we are taught That happiness is but opinion.

Light of the World, and Ruler of… With happy Speed begin Thy great… And, as Thou dost thy radiant Jou… Through every distant Climate own… That in fair Albion Thou hast see…

Sphinx was a monster that would ea… Whatever stranger she could get, Unless his ready wit disclosed The subtile riddle she proposed. OEdipus was resolved to go

Since my words, though ne’er so te… With sincerest truth express’d, Cannot make your heart surrender, Nor so much as warm your breast; What will move the springs of Nat…

In Virgil’s Sacred Verse we find… That Passion can depress or raise The Heav’nly, as the Human Mind: Who dare deny what Virgil says? But if They shou’d; what our Grea…

How long, deluded Albion, wilt th… In the lethargic sleep, the sad re… By which thy close thy constant en… Has softly lull’d thee to thy woes… Or wake, degenerate isle, or cease…

Wiessen and nature held a long con… If she created or he painted best; With pleasing thought the wondrous… She still form’d fairer, he still… In these seven brethren they conte…

Madam, Since Anna visited the mus… (Around her tomb let weeping angel… Hail, thou, the brightest of thy s… Most gracious neighbour and most w… Not Harley’s self, to Cam and Is…

Whither would my passion run? Shall I fly her, or pursue her? Losing her I am undone, Yet would not gain her to undo her… Ye tyrants of the human breast,

Dear Chloe, how blubber’d is that… Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hai… Prythee quit this caprice; and (as… Let us e’en talk a little like fol… How canst thou presume, thou hast…

When famed Varelst this little wo… Flora vouchsafed the growing works… Finding the painter’s science at a… The goddess snatch’d the pencil fr… And finishing the piece, she smili…

Dulce est desipere in loco. Some Folks are drunk, yet do not… So might not Bacchus give You La… Was it a Muse, O lofty Poet, Or Virgin of St. Cyr, You saw?

Phillis, give this humour over, We too long have time abused; I shall turn an errant rover If the favour’s still refused. Faith ’tis nonsense out of measure…

Tune. - ‘King John and the Abbot… I sing not old Jason who travell’… To kiss the fair maids and possess… Nor sing I AEneas, who, led by h… Got rid of one wife and went far f…