Of all dramatic writing, comic wit, As 'tis the best, so 'tis most hard to hit, For it lies all in level to the eye, Where all may judge, and each defect may spy. Humour is that which every day we meet,...
'Tis much desired, you judges of the town Would pass a vote to put all prologues down: For who can show me, since they first were writ, They e'er converted one hard-hearted wit?...
Chloe found Amyntas lying, All in tears upon the plain; Sighing to himself, and crying, Wretched I, to love in vain! Kiss me, dear, before my dying; Kiss me once, and ease my pain! ...
As there is music uninform'd by art In those wild notes, which, with a merry heart, The birds in unfrequented shades express, Who, better taught at home, yet please us less:...
When factious rage to cruel exile drove The queen of beauty,[1] and the court of love, The Muses droop'd, with their forsaken arts, And the sad Cupids broke their useless darts:...
Whether the fruitful Nile, or Tyrian shore, The seeds of arts and infant science bore, 'Tis sure the noble plant, translated first, Advanced its head in Grecian gardens nursed....
Of gentle blood, his parents' only treasure, Their lasting sorrow, and their vanish'd pleasure, Adorn'd with features, virtues, wit, and grace, A large provision for so short a race;...