#EnglishWriters
Ye shepherds give ear to my lay, And take no more heed of my sheep: They have nothing to do but to str… I have nothing to do but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove;
When first, Philander, first I ca… Where Avon rolls his winding stre… The nymphs, how brisk, the swains,… To see Asteria, queen of May! The parsons round her praises sung…
Martial. O Fortune! if my prayer of old Was ne’er solicitous for gold, With better grace thou may’st allo… My suppliant wish, that asks it no…
My banks they are furnish’d with b… Whose murmur invites one to sleep; My grottos are shaded with trees, And my hills are white-over with s… I seldom have met with a loss,
Arbusta humilesque myricæ. Virg. Ye shepherds so chearful and gay, Whose flocks never carelessly roam… Should Corydon’s happen to stray, Oh! call the poor wanderers home.
’Twas in a land of learning, The Muse’s favourite city, Such pranks of late Were play’d by a rat, As-tempt one to be witty.
Say, gentle Sleep! that lov’st th… Parent of dreams! thou great Magi… Whence my late vision thus endures… Thus haunts my fancy through the g… The silent moon had scaled the vau…
The western sky was purpled o’er With every pleasing ray; And flocks reviving felt no more The sultry heats of day; When from an hazel’s artless bower
Adieu, ye jovial Youths! who join To plunge old Care in floods of w… And, as your dazzled eyeballs roll… Discern him struggling in the bowl… Nor yet is hope so wholly flown,
’Tis by comparison we know On every object to bestow Its proper share of praise Did each alike perfection bear, What beauty, though divinely fair,
Now in the cowslip’s dewy cell The fairies make their bed, They hover round the crystal well, The turf in circles tread. The lovely linnet now her song
When bright Roxana treads the gre… In all the pride of dress and mien… Averse to freedom, love, and play, The dazzling rival of the day; None other beauty strikes mine eye…
‘These are messengers That feelingly persuade me what I… Comes a dun in the morning and rap… ‘I made bold to call-’tis a twelve… I’m sorry, believe me, to trouble…
Why o’er the verdant banks of Ous… Does yonder Halcyon speed so fast… ’Tis all because she would not los… Her favourite calm, that will not… The sun with azure paints the skie…
Whilst round in wild rotations hur… These glittering forms I view, Methinks the busy restless world Is pictured in a few. So may the busy world advance,