Grant heav’n that I may chuse my… If you design me worldly Happines… Tis not Honour thats but air Glory has but fancied light Fame as oft speak’s false as right

From the bleak Beach and broad ex… To lofty Salem, Thought direct th… Mount thy light chariot, move alon… And end thy flight where Hezekiah… How swiftly thought has pass’d fro…

Young Philomela’s powrfull dart Two gentle shepheard’s hitt With Beauty touchd Amintors heart Celadons with witt The Rivall swains on either side

Is Viner Dead? and shall each Mu… Silent as Death, and as his Music… Shall he depart without a poet’s… Who oft to Harmony has tun’d thei… Shall he, who knew the Elegance o…

Phillis I long yr powr have ownd & you still gently swayd Now nature has yr charms dethrond & time your chain decayd Both are wth such perversness curs…

Come hither, Boy, we’ll hunt to D… The Book-Worm, ravening Beast of… Produc’d by Parent Earth, at odds (As Fame reports it) with the God… Him frantick Hunger wildly drives

He. When first my Biddy love prof… My rapture ran so high Not Gentle S—s fondly prest To beautious G—s panting breast Was half so blest as I

When thy Beauty appears In its Graces and Airs, All bright as an Angel new dropt… At distance I gaze, and am aw’d b… So strangely you dazzle my Eye!

Rome when she could King Pyrrhus… She scornd a triumph So ignobly g… The treason & ye traitor both… & ever Justly conquerd ever J… But (Like an Affrick) England se…

Happy the man whose firm resolves… Assisting Grace to burst his sinf… For him the Days with golden minu… Tis his the Land where milk &… Justice & mercy piety & pe…

By the blue taper’s trembling ligh… No more I waste the wakeful night… Intent with endless view to pore The schoolmen and the sages o’er: Their books from wisdom widely str…

Poets are bound by ye severest rul… the great ones must be mad, ye lit… thus wn. I rime ’tis at my own exp… to please my friend, I drop my cla… but now ye greater sway wch custom…

Upon a time, and in a place, With Pan Apollo playd, Grave Midas sat to Judge ye case, And Pan ye Victour made. The Rustick to his Fauns withdrew…

Thanks to the friend whose happy l… In Derry’s oaten soil frozen air When to the Citty late I bid fare… Beneath my firm resolves my scribl… The Ghost of my departed Muse you…

To Henry, Lord Viscount Bolingbr… I hate the Vulgar with untuneful… Hearts uninspir’d, and Senses unr… Hence ye Prophane, I raise the so… And Bolingbroke descends to hear…