As Bacchus ranging at his leisure… (Io Bacchus! king of pleasure) Charm’d the wide world with drink… And all his thousand airy fancies; Alas! he quite forgot the while

Let those love now, who never lov’… Let those who always lov’d, now lo… The Spring, the new, the warb’lin… The youthful Season of reviving Y… In Spring the Loves enkindle mutu…

Compassion checks my spleen, yet… The tears a passage thro’ my swell… To laugh or weep at sins, might id… Unheedful passion, or unfruitful w… Satyr! arise, and try thy sharper…

Art thou alive? It cannot be, There’s so much Rottenness in The… Corruption only is in Death; And what’s more Putrid than thy B… Think not you Live, because you S…

Holy Jesus! God of Love! Look with pity from above, Shed the precious purple tide From thine hands, thy feet, thy si… Let thy streams of comfort roll,

Arise my soul & hast away Thy god doth call & canst thou… Thee to his table he invites To tast of heavenly delights He sufferd death to sett thee free

This House and Inhabitants both w… And resemble each other as near ca… One half is decay’d, and in want o… The other new built, but not finis…

Gay Bacchus liking Estcourt’s Wi… A noble Meal bespoke; And for the Guests that were to D… Brought Comus, Love, and Joke. The God near Cupid drew his Chai…

Is virtue something reall here bel… Or but an Idle name & empty s… While on this head I take my thou… Methinks young Freedom answers wt… In his own moralls thus the Spark…

When thy beauty appears In its graces and airs All bright as an angel new dropp’d… At distance I gaze and am awed by… So strangely you dazzle my eye!

Upon a Bed of humble clay In all her Garments loose A Prostitute my Mother lay To ev’ry Comer’s use. ‘Till one Gallant in heat of love

How bless’d the man, how fully so, As far as man is bless’d below, Who taking up his cross essays To follow Jesus all his days, With resolution to obey,

Oft have I read that Innocence re… Where cooling streams salute ye su… Singing at ease she roves ye field… Or safe with shepheards lys among… But late alas I crossd a country…

One authour has anothers head begu… Lett no man say it might be better… For since they both are Witts Ime… To find he has not drawn him twice…

Mourn widdowd Iland, Mourn, your… Mourn ye unhappy flocks your Shea… Around your grief in dolefull stra… & Lett ym in sad Eccho’s dy a… As sympathising wth their masters…