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....
Our brethren of England, who love us so dear, And in all they do for us so kindly do mean, (A blessing upon them!) have sent us this year, For the good of our church, a true English dean....
Poor Monsieur his conscience preserved for a year, Yet in one hour he lost it, 'tis known far and near; To whom did he lose it? - A judge or a peer.[2] Which nobody can deny. ...
An orator dismal of Nottinghamshire, Who has forty years let out his conscience to hire, Out of zeal for his country, and want of a place, Is come up, vi et armis, to break the queen's peace....
Mighty Thomas, a solemn senatus[1] I call, To consult for Sapphira;[2] so come one and all; Quit books, and quit business, your cure and your care, For a long winding walk, and a short bill of fare....
Thanks to my stars, I once can see A window here from scribbling free! Here no conceited coxcombs pass, To scratch their paltry drabs on glass; Nor party fool is calling names,...
Your house of hair, and lady's hand, At first did put me to a stand. I have it now - 'tis plain enough - Your hairy business is a muff. Your engine fraught with cooling gales,...
WITH half an eye your riddle I spy, I observe your wicket hemm'd in by a thicket, And whatever passes is strain'd through glasses. You say it is quiet: I flatly deny it....
In ancient times, the wise were able In proper terms to write a fable: Their tales would always justly suit The characters of every brute. The ass was dull, the lion brave,...
Right Trusty, and so forth - we let you know We are very ill used by you mortals below. For, first, I have often by chemists been told, (Though I know nothing on't,) it is I that make gold;...
The enclosed prologue is formed upon the story of the secretary's not allowing you to act, unless you would pay him '300 per annum; upon which you got a license from the Lord Mayor to act as strollers....
The Scottish hinds, too poor to house In frosty nights their starving cows, While not a blade of grass or hay Appears from Michaelmas to May, Must let their cattle range in vain...
I like your collyrium, Take my eyes, sir, and clear ye 'um, 'Twill gain you a great reputation; By this you may rise, Like the doctor so wise,[1] Who open'd the eyes of the nation. ...