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appear arms bear beauty beſt breaſt bright bring callid charms command court delight dreadful dull eaſe equal eyes face fair fall fame fate father fear fight fire firſt fools give glory gods grace grave grow hand head heart heaven honour hope keep kind king knew laſt leave leſs light live looks lord mighty mind moſt mournful Muſe muſt Nature never night noble o'er once pain peace play Poet poor praiſe pride prince race rage reſt rich riſe round royal ſea ſee ſeem'd ſhall ſhe ſhould ſoft ſome Song ſoul ſtate ſtill ſuch tears tell thee theſe things thoſe thou thoughts Till town triumph true Twas verſe virtue wait whoſe wonder write young youth
Page 165 - prove kind, And fill our empty brain ; Yet if rough Neptune rouze the wind, To wave the azure main, Our paper, pen, and ink, and we, Roll up and down our fhips at fea, With a fa, &c.
Page 165 - How hard it is to write ; The Mufes now, and Neptune too, We muft implore to write to you, With a fa, la, la, la, la. II.
Page 167 - When any mournful tune you hear, That dies in every note ; As if it figh'd with each man's care, For being fo remote ; Think how often love we've
Page 20 - By titles, which but few can boaft, A moft juft mafter, and a faithful friend ? One who never yet did wrong To high or low, to old or young ? Of him what orphan can complain ? Of him what widow make her moan? But fuch as wifh him here again, And mifs his goodnefs now
Page 22 - With fpoils of viftory and glory fraught. To him then every heart was open, down From the great man to the clown : In him rejoic'd, to him inclin'd ; And as his health round the glad board did pafs, Each honeft fellow cry'd, Fill full my glafs; And fhew'd the fullnefs of his mind. No
Page 48 - vain have prov'd the labours of the ftage, -*.-*- In ftriving to reclaim a vicious age ! Poets may write, the mifchief to impeach ; You care as little what the poets teach, As you regard at church what parfons preach. But where fuch follies and fuch vices reign, What honeft pen
Page 50 - weary marches, fleeplefs nights, For this feeds hard, and lodges cold ; Which can't be bought with hills of gold. Since wealth and power too weak we find, To quell the tumults of the mind ; Or from the monarch's roofs of
Page 27 - Ballads, and all the fpurious excefs Of ills that malice could devife, Or ever fwarm'd from a licentious prefs, Hung round about him like a fpell : And in his own hand too was writ, That worthy piece of modern wit, The country's late appeal. But from fuch ills when will our wretched
Page 52 - of eager love, She coldly calls me friend. Ah, Sylvia ! thus in vain you ftrive To aft a healer's part, 'Twill keep but lingering pain alive, Alas ! and break my heart. When, on my lonely, penfive bed I lay me down to reft, In hope to calm my raging head, And cool my burning breaft. Her cruelty all