'Tis a bledam, Seen with wit and beauty seldom. 'Tis a fear that starts at shadows. Tis, (no, 'tisn't) like Miss Meadows. 'Tis a virgin hard of feature,...
As when that hero, who, in each campaign, Had braved the Goth, and many a Vandal slain, Lay fortune-struck, a spectacle of woe! Wept by each friend, forgiven by every foe:...
Beneath the shade a spreading Beech displays, Hylas and Aegon sung their rural lays, This mourn'd a faithless, that an absent Love, And Delia's name and Doris' fill'd the Grove....
As some fond virgin, whom her mother's care Drags from the town to wholesome country air, Just when she learns to roll a melting eye, And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;...
To this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art, draw near; Here lies the friend most loved, the son most dear: Who ne'er knew joy, but friendship might divide, Or gave his father grief but when he died. ...
Here, Withers, rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind, Thy country's friend, but more of human kind. Oh, born to arms! oh, worth in youth approved! Oh, soft humanity, in age beloved!...
Here rests a woman, good without pretence, Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense: No conquests she, but o'er herself, desired, No arts essay'd, but not to be admired....
If modest youth, with cool reflection crown'd, And every opening virtue blooming round, Could save a parent's justest pride from fate, Or add one patriot to a sinking state;...
Fair charmer, cease! nor make your voice's prize, A heart resign'd, the conquest of your eyes: Well might, alas! that threaten'd vessel fail, Which winds and lightning both at once assail....
Ne Rubeam, Pingui donatus Munere (Horace, Epistles II.i.267) While you, great patron of mankind, sustain The balanc'd world, and open all the main; Your country, chief, in arms abroad defend,...
Parson, these things in thy possessing Are better than the Bishop's blessing. A Wife that makes conserves; a Steed That carries double when there's need: October store, and best Virginia,...
Here shunning idleness at once and praise, This radiant pile nine rural sisters[130] raise; The glittering emblem of each spotless dame, Clear as her soul, and shining as her frame;...
Muse, 'tis enough: at length thy labour ends, And thou shalt live, for Buckingham commends. Let Crowds and Critics now my verse assail, Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail:...
Muse, 'tis enough: at length thy labour ends, And thou shalt live, for Buckingham commends, Let crowds of critics now my verse assail, Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail:...