To a Writer of long Epitaphs. So very much is said: One half will never be believ'd, To Mr. Thomson, who had procured the Author R EFLECTING on thy worth, methinks I find The Fan. ATTERBURY. To the Author of an Epitaph on Dr. Mead. HACKETT. LEAD's not dead then, you say, only sleeping a little? [uttle: Why, egad! Sir, you've hit it off there to a Yet, friend, his awaking I very much doubtPluto knows whom he's got, and will ne'er let him out. Lest these learn'd mates should want an offer- A Country Parson's Answer to a young Lady who sent him her Compliments on the Ten of Hearts. JOUR Compliments, dear lady, pray forbear; Old English services are more sincere. You send ten hearts; the tythe is only mine. Give me but one, and burn the other nine. By Dr. DONNE. IAM unable, yonder beggar cries, To stand or go. If he says true, he lies. MOORE always smiles whenever he recites: To Mr. Pope. But when the world's loud praise is thine, When none shall rail, and ev'ry lay Devote a wreath to thee: That day (for come it will)—that day 3 G3 To Lady Isabella Thynne, cutting Trees in Paper. WALLER. FAIR hand, that can on virgin paper write, Yet from the stain of ink preserve it white: Whose travel o'er that silver field does shos Like tracks of leverets in morning snow: Love's image thus in purest minds is wrong Without a spot or blemish to the thought. Strange, that your fingers should the pencil Without the help of colours or of oil? For tho' a painter boughs and leaves can r Tis yours alone to make them bend and sha Whose breath salutes your new-created g Like southern winds, and makes it gently Orpheus could make the forest dance, buty Can make the motion and the forest too. A poet, when he would describe his mind. Is, as in language, so in fame, confin'd: Your works are read wherever there are m So far the scissors goes beyond the pen. WHEN old Elijah, as the Scriptures say. Triumphant mounted to the realm of cay His spirit doubled, and his cloak beside, Pox on't, quoth Time to Thomas Hearne, Answered by Mr. WEST. Dr. ALDRICH's Five Reasons for Drinking. GOOD wine; a friend; or being dry; Or lest we should be by and by; Or, any other reason why. By WALLER. THYRSIS, a youth of the inspired train, Attend his passion, and approve his song: By PRIOR. O his death-bed poor Simon lies, Written on the Bed-chamber Daor of Charles II. HERE lies our sovereign lord the King, Whose word no man relies on; He never savs a foolish thing, Nor ever does a wise one. To Phyllis THAT little patch upon your face On you it hides a killing grace, By PRIOR. Venus stood bathing in a river; New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver, With skill he chose his sharpest dart; With all his might his bow he drew: Swift to his beauteous parent's heart The too well guided arrow flew. I faint! I die! the goddess cried: O cruel! couldst thou find none other To wreak thy spleen on, parricide? Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother. Poor Cupid, sobbing, scarce could speak; Indeed, Mamma, I did not know ye; Alas! how easy, my mistake! I took you for your likeness, Chloe, Sheffield approves, consenting Phoebus bends, Some rais'd aloft come tumbling down amain, And I and malice from this hour are friends, And fall so hard, they bound and rise again. DEPEND not upon verse for fame, But story lasts, though modern flow'rs A surer way then wouldst thou find By Lord HERVEY.: POSSESS' of one great hall for state, Without one room to sleep or eat: How well you build, let flatt'ry tell, And all mankind how ill you dwell. Written in a Window of the Tower, over the HEARD last week, friend Edward, thou wa dead. I'm very glad to hear it too, cries Ned. Name of R. Walpole, confined in the same FRIEND Isaac, 'tis strange, you, that live so Room, Ann. Dom. 1712. LANSDOWNE, GOOD unexpected, evil unforeseen, near Bray, Should not set up the sign of the Vicar; Appears by turns, as fortune shifts the Tho' it may be an odd one, you cannot but say It must needs be a sign of good liquor. Scene: Answer *** Our thoughts are settled, and intent out look INDEED, Master Poet, your reason's but poor; On female idleness his power relies, On the instructive verse and moral book; For the Vicar would think it a sin To stay, like a booby, and lounge at the door; 'Twere a sign 'twas bad liquor within. By a Porter, on the Gin Act. To a Great Man. If you would govern, we must drink. Giles Jolt. GILES JOLT as sleeping in his cart he lay, Why how now? am I Giles, or am I not? To Zoilus. JosTAH RELPH. Milton. DRYDEN. THREE poets in three distant ages born, On the Duchess of Marlborough's Offer of 5001. That nothing might escape her; It scarce would buy the paper. Scotland. CLEVELAND. HAD Cain been a Scot, God would have alter'd his doom; [at home. Not fore'd him to wander, but confin'd him By PRIOR. Tuts to the Muses spoke the Cyprian dame: Adorn my altars, and revere my name; My son shall else assume his potent darts, Twang goes the bow! my girls, have at your hearts! But when he finds us studying hard he flies. On Michael Angelo's famous Piece of the Coucifixion, who stabbed a Person that he might do it more naturally.” Dr. YOUNG. WHILST his Redeemer nit the canvass dies, Stabbitat his feet his brother weltring The Muses answer'd-Venus, we deride The daring artist, ehells serene, flies; The vagrant's malice, and his mother's pride. Views the pale cheek, and the distorted nien; Send him to nvmphs who sleep in Ida's shade, the drains off life by drops 2 and, deaf to cries, To the loose duace and wanton taasquerade:Examines evry spirita, it flies; |