The fleeting Joy that all things… Goes off like snow while Zephirs… The happy wish that makes our blis… it is not wealth it is not to be g… To glide along on pleasures easy f…

The sun is swiftly mounted high; It glitters in the southern sky; Its beams with force and glory bea… And fruitful earth is fill’d with… Father, also with Thy fire

Think England what it is to shake… & better use your King, His power raisd the frozen snake, & Must he when he hears it spe… find how the tongue can sting?

Ye Wives who scold fishes sell, Or sing sell your fruit, I want a wondrous thing to tell, Then (if you can) be mute. From some of You one Homer came,

My thought, on views of admiration… Intently ravish’d and depriv’d of… Now darts a while on earth, a whil… Here mov’d with praise and mov’d w… The joys entrancing and the mute s…

In the st season of the infant ear… When all from Chaos took their or… When mankind from the hand of heav… All pure & white ere vice had… But evry act with innocence indu’d

Mother of plenty, daughter of the… Sweet Peace, the troubl’d world’s… Around thy poet weave thy summer s… Within my fancy spread thy flow’ry… Amongst thy train soft ease and pl…

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…

Now leave the Porch, to vision no… Where the next rapture glows with… Now change the time, and change th… The following Seer forewarns a fu… To some retirement, where the Pro…

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

On verdurd trees ye silver blossom… Whose leaves atop their perfect wh… & faintly streak with stains o… The western breeze steales ore ye… to sigh near roses as insnard by l…

Once Pope under Jevais resolvd to… & from a Good Poet Pope turnd… So from a Good Painter Charles J… May turn an ill Poet by living wi… Then Each may perform the true pa…

To friend with fingers quick &… I send this piece of tunefull timb… that, as ’tis said in Orpheus stor… He may teach trees to dance a Bor… Or else in modern Phrase more kna…

Now Crowds more off, retiring tru… On Eccho’s dying in their last re… The notes of fancy seem no longer… But sweetning closes fitt a privat… So when the storms forsake ye seas…

Where waving Pines the brows of I… The swain young Paris half supine… Saw the loose Flocks thro’ shrubs… And Piping call’d them to the gla… ’Twas there he met the Message of…