Madam,'A stranger's purpose in these lays Is to congratulate, and not to praise. To give the creature the Creator's due Were sin in me, and an offence to you. From man to man, or e'en to woman paid,...
Whether dispensing hope, and ease To the pale victim of disease, Or in the social crowd you sit, And charm the group with sense and wit, Moore's partial ear will not disdain Attention to my artless strain.
I mean no giddy heights to climb, And vainly toil to be sublime; While every line with labour wrought, Is swell'd with tropes for want of thought: Nor shall I call the Muse to shed...
When crowding folks, with strange ill faces, Were making legs, and begging places, And some with patents, some with merit, Tired out my good Lord Dorset's spirit: Sneaking I stood amongst the crew,...
Sir, As once a twelvemonth to the priest, Holy at Rome, here Antichrist, The Spanish king presents a jennet To show his love, that's all that's in it; For if his Holiness would thump...
Dear Joseph,--five and twenty years ago-- Alas, how time escapes!--'tis even so-- With frequent intercourse, and always sweet And always friendly, we were wont to cheat A tedious hour--and now we never meet....
How could you, Gay, disgrace the Muse's train, To serve a tasteless court twelve years in vain![2] Fain would I think our female friend [3] sincere, Till Bob,[4] the poet's foe, possess'd her ear....
'Tis not that I design to rob Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob, For thou art born sole heir, and single, Of dear Mat Prior's easy jingle; Not that I mean, while thus I knit...
Amongst the sons of men how few are known Who dare be just to merit not their own! Superior virtue and superior sense, To knaves and fools, will always give offence; Nay, men of real worth can scarcely bear,...
Here lies a most beautiful lady, Light of step and heart was she; I think she was the most beautiful lady That ever was in the West Country. But beauty vanishes; beauty passes;...
Interr'd beneath this marble stone, Lie saunt'ring Jack and idle Joan. While rolling threescore years and one Did round this globe their courses run; If human things went ill or well;...
When Sunday tidings from the front Made pale the priest and people, And heavily the blessing went, And bells were dumb in the steeple; The Soldier's widow (summering sweerly here,...
Here lies one who never drew Blood himself, yet many slew; Gave the gun its aim, and figure Made in field, yet ne'er pull'd trigger. Armed men have gladly made Him their guide, and him obey'd;...
Weep with me, all you that read This little story; And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry. 'Twas a child that so did thrive In grace and feature,...