To you who live in chill degree, As map informs, of fifty-three, And do not much for cold atone, By bringing thither fifty-one, Methinks all climes should be alike, From tropic e'en to pole arctique;...
What flocks of critics hover here to-day, As vultures wait on armies for their prey, All gaping for the carcase of a play! With croaking notes they bode some dire event,...
You saw our wife was chaste, yet thoroughly tried, And, without doubt, ye are hugely edified; For, like our hero, whom we show'd to-day, You think no woman true, but in a play....
Fair, sweet, and young, receive a prize Reserved for your victorious eyes: From crowds, whom at your feet you see, O pity, and distinguish me! As I from thousand beauties more...
FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony This universal frame began: When nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay, And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high,...
Ask not the cause, why sullen Spring So long delays her flowers to bear; Why warbling birds forget to sing, And winter storms invert the year: Chloris is gone, and fate provides...
Oft has our poet wish'd, this happy seat Might prove his fading Muse's last retreat: I wonder'd at his wish, but now I find He sought for quiet, and content of mind;...
After our 'sop's fable shown to-day, I come to give the moral of the play. Feign'd Zeal, you saw, set out the speedier pace: But the last heat, Plain Dealing won the race:...
Poets, like disputants, when reasons fail, Have one sure refuge left--and that's to rail. Fop, coxcomb, fool, are thunder'd through the pit; And this is all their equipage of wit....
A Poet once the Spartans led to fight, And made them conquer in the muse's right; So would our poet lead you on this day, Showing your tortured fathers in his play....
To all and singular in this full meeting, Ladies and gallants, Phoebus sends ye greeting. To all his sons, by whate'er title known, Whether of court, or coffee-house, or town;...
Sacred To The Immortal Memory Of Sir Palmes Fairbone, Knight, Governor Of Tangier; In Execution Of Which Command, He Was Mortally Wounded By A Shot From The Moors, Then Besieging The Town, In The Forty-Sixth Year Of His Age. Oc...
And now 'tis time; for their officious haste, Who would before have borne him to the sky, Like eager Romans, ere all rites were past, Did let too soon the sacred eagle[1] fly. ...
He who could view the book of destiny, And read whatever there was writ of thee, O charming youth, in the first opening page, So many graces in so green an age, Such wit, such modesty, such strength of mind,...