1 Of old, when Scarron… 2 Each guest brought his dish,… 3 If our landlord supplies us… 4 Let each guest bring himself… 5 Our Dean shall be venison,…

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village o… Where health and plenty cheered th… Where smiling spring its earliest… And parting summer’s lingering blo… Dear lovely bowers of innocence an…

WHEN lovely woman stoops to foll… And finds too late that men betray… What charm can soothe her melancho… What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover,

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN… TO CONQUER’ THERE is a place, so Ariosto si… A treasury for lost and missing th… Lost human wits have places assign…

SAY, cruel IRIS, pretty rake, Dear mercenary beauty, What annual offering shall I make… Expressive of my duty? My heart, a victim to thine eyes,

Secluded from domestic strife, Jack Book-worm led a college life… A fellowship at twenty-five Made him the happiest man alive; He drank his glass and crack’d his…

MAN SPEAKER. FAST by that shore where Thames’… Reflects new glories on his breast… Where, splendid as the youthful po… He forms a scene beyond Elysium b…

TRANSLATED ARMIES of box that sportively e… And mimic real battles in their ra… Pleased I recount; how, smit with… Two mighty Monarchs met in advers…

‘Turn, gentle hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray. ’For here, forlorn and lost I tre…

ADDRESSED TO THE GE… A POEM, BY THE AUTHOR Worried with debts and past all ho… His pen he prostitutes t’ avoid a… ROSCOM.

WEEPING, murmuring, complaining… Lost to every gay delight; MYRA, too sincere for feigning, Fears th’ approaching bridal night… Yet, why impair thy bright perfect…

When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray… What charm can soothe her melancho… What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover,

AH me! when shall I marry me? Lovers are plenty; but fail to rel… He, fond youth, that could carry m… Offers to love, but means to decei… But I will rally, and combat the…

IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT LONG had I sought in vain to fin… A likeness for the scribbling kind… The modern scribbling kind, who wr… In wit, and sense, and nature’s sp…

YE Muses, pour the pitying tear For Pollio snatch’d away; O! had he liv’d another year!- ‘He had not died to-day’. O! were he born to bless mankind,