On his death-bed poor Lubin lies: His spouse is in despair; With frequent cries, and mutual sighs,
If wine and music have the power To ease the sickness of the soul, Let Phoebis every string explore,
Matthew met Richard, when or where From story is not mighty clear: Of many knotty points they spoke,
The train of equipage and pomp of state, The shining sideboard and the burnish'd plate, Let other ministers, great Anne, require,
At Mary's tomb (sad sacred place!) The Virtues shall their vigils keep, And every Muse and every Grace
On Exodus III. 14. "I am that I am." Man! foolish man! Scarce know'st thou how thyself began,
Spare, generous victor, spare the slave, Who did unequal war pursue; That more than triumph he might have,
Forbear to ask Me, why I weep; Vext Cloe to her Shepherd said: 'Tis for my Two poor stragling Sheep
In Heav'n, one Holy-day, You read In wise Anacreon, Ganymede Drew heedless Cupid in, to throw
As after noon, one summer's day, Venus stood bathing in a river; Cupid a-shooting went that way,
Hans Carvel, impotent and old, Married a lass of London mould. Handsome? Enough; extremely gay;
As Nancy at her toilette sat, Admiring this, and blaming that, Tell me, she said, but tell me true,
Let 'em Censure: what care I? The Herd of Criticks I defie. Let the Wretches know, I write
Beneath a Myrtle's verdant Shade As Cloe half asleep was laid, Cupid perch'd lightly on Her Breast,
In sullen Humour one Day Jove Sent Hermes down to Ida's Grove, Commanding Cupid to deliver
Reader, I was born, and cried; I crack'd, I smelt, and so I died. Like Julius Caesar's was my death,
I, My dear, was born to-day So all my jolly comrades say: They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth,
How old may Phyllis be, you ask, Whose beauty thus all hearts engages? To answer is no easy task;
Ye careful Angels, whom eternal Fate Ordains, on Earth and human Acts to wait; Who turn with secret Pow'r this restless Ball,
As the Chameleon, who is known To have no colours of his own, But borrows from his neighbour's hue
In Virgil's Sacred Verse we find, That Passion can depress or raise The Heav'nly, as the Human Mind:
Miss Danae, when Fair and Young (As Horace has divinely sung) Could not be kept from Jove's Embrace
Thus Kitty, beautiful and young, And wild as colt untamed, Bespoke the fair from whence she sprung,
Say, sire of insects, mighty Sol, (A fly upon the chariot-pole Cries out) What blue-bottle alive
When Kneller's works, of various grace, Were to fair Venus shown, The Goddess spied in every face
Celia and I the other Day Walk'd o'er the Sand-Hills to the Sea: The setting Sun adorn'd the Coast,
Written three hundred years since. Be it right or wrong, these men among On women do complayne;
That all from Adam first began, None but ungodly Whiston doubts, And that his son and his son's son
Lysander talks extremely well; On any subject let him dwell His tropes and figures will content ye
The amorous youth, whose tender breast Was by his darling Cat possest, Obtain'd of Venus his desire,
When future ages shall with wonder view These glorious lines which Harley's daughter drew, They shall confess that Britain could not raise
Sphinx was a monster that would eat Whatever stranger she could get, Unless his ready wit disclosed
Dictate, O mighty judge, what thou hast seen Of cities and of courts, of books and men, And deign to let thy servant hold the pen.