Hans Carvel, impotent and old, Married a lass of London mould. Handsome? Enough; extremely gay; Loved music, company, and play: High flights she had, and wit at w…

Poor Hal caught his death standin… Expecting till midnight when Nan… But fatal his patience, as cruel t… And cursed was the weather that qu… Whoe’er thou art that reads these…

O Death how thou spoil’st the bes… Said Gabriel, who still as he bur… For the sake of her family married… And thus in an honest collateral l… He still married on till his numbe…

Matthew met Richard, when or wher… From story is not mighty clear: Of many knotty points they spoke, And pro and con by turns they too… Rats half the manuscript have ate;

Democritus, dear droll, revisit ea… And with our follies glut thy heig… Sad Heraclitus, serious wretch, r… In louder grief our greater crimes… Between you both I unconcern’d st…

Once I was unconfined and free, Would I had been so still! Enjoying sweetest liberty, And roving at my will. But now, not master of my heart,

Forbear to ask Me, why I weep; Vext Cloe to her Shepherd said: ’Tis for my Two poor stragling Sh… Perhaps, or for my Squirrel dead. For mind I what You late have wri…

Whilst I am scorch’d with hot des… In vain cold Friendship you retur… Your drops of pity on my fire, Alas! but make it fiercer burn. Ah! would you have the flame suppr…

The merchant, to secure his treasu… Conveys it in a borrow’d name: Euphelia serves to grace my measur… But Cloe is my real flame. My softest verse, my darling lyre,

Written three hundred years since. Be it right or wrong, these men am… On women do complayne; Affyrmynge this, how that it is A labour spent in vaine

If wine and music have the power To ease the sickness of the soul, Let Phoebis every string explore, And Bacchus fill the sprightly bo… Let them their friendly aid employ

Apollo. Abate, fair fugitive, abate thy sp… Dismiss thy fears, and turn thy be… With kind regard a panting lover v… Less swiftly fly, less swiftly I’…

Here reading how fond Adam was be… And how by sin Eve’s blasted char… Our common loss unjustly you compl… So small that part of it which you… You still, fair mother, in your of…

Of thy judicious Muse’s sense, Young Hinchinbroke so very proud… That Sacharissa and Hortense She looks henceforth upon as dowdi… Yet she to one must still submit,

Phillis, this pious talk give o’er… And modesty pretend no more, It is too plain an art: Surely you take me for a fool, And would by this prove me so dull