The very reverend Dean Smedley, Of dulness, pride, conceit, a medley, Was equally allow'd to shine As poet, scholar, and divine; With godliness could well dispense, Would be a rake, but wanted sense;...
Desponding Phyllis was endu'd With ev'ry talent of a prude: She trembled when a man drew near; Salute her, and she turn'd her ear: If o'er against her you were placed,...
On rainy days alone I dine Upon a chick and pint of wine. On rainy days I dine alone, And pick my chicken to the bone; But this my servants much enrages, No scraps remain to save board-wages....
Poor ladies! though their business be to play, 'Tis hard they must be busy night and day: Why should they want the privilege of men, Nor take some small diversions now and then?...
Five hours (and who can do it less in?) By haughty Celia spent in dressing; The goddess from her chamber issues, Array'd in lace, brocades, and tissues. Strephon, who found the room was void,...
Logicians have but ill defined As rational, the human kind; Reason, they say, belongs to man, But let them prove it if they can. Wise Aristotle and Smiglesius, By ratiocinations specious,...
Did ever problem thus perplex, Or more employ the female sex? So sweet a passion who would think, Jove ever form'd to make a stink? The ladies vow and swear, they'll try, Whether it be a truth or lie....
The greatest monarch may be stabb'd by night And fortune help the murderer in his flight; The vilest ruffian may commit a rape, Yet safe from injured innocence escape; And calumny, by working under ground,...
After venting all my spite, Tell me, what have I to write? Every error I could find Through the mazes of your mind, Have my busy Muse employ'd, Till the company was cloy'd....
Among the numbers who employ Their tongues and pens to give you joy, Dear Harley! generous youth, admit What friendship dictates more than wit. Forgive me, when I fondly thought...
In all I wish, how happy should I be, Thou grand Deluder, were it not for thee! So weak thou art, that fools thy power despise; And yet so strong, thou triumph'st o'er the wise....
Since your poetic prancer is turn'd into Cancer, I'll tell you at once, sir, I'm now not your man, sir; For pray, sir, what pleasure in fighting is found With a coward, who studies to traverse his ground?...
Hither from Mexico I came, To serve a proud Iernian dame: Was long submitted to her will; At length she lost me at quadrille. Through various shapes I often pass'd, Still hoping to have rest at last;...
A paper book is sent by Boyle, Too neatly gilt for me to soil. Delany sends a silver standish, When I no more a pen can brandish. Let both around my tomb be placed: As trophies of a Muse deceased;...