#Augustan
Know then thyself, presume not Go… The proper study of mankind is man… Plac’d on this isthmus of a middle… A being darkly wise, and rudely gr… With too much knowledge for the sc…
Cardelia. The Basset—Table spread, the Tal… Why stays Smilinda in the Dressin… Rise, pensive Nymph, the Tallier… Smilinda.
First in these fields I try the s… Nor blush to sport on Windsor’s b… Fair Thames, flow gently from thy… While on thy banks Sicilian Muses… Let vernal airs tho’ trembling osi…
Yet, yet a moment, one dim ray of… Indulge, dread Chaos, and eternal… Of darkness visible so much be len… As half to show, half veil, the de… Ye pow’rs! whose mysteries restor’…
Silence! coeval with Eternity; Thou wert, ere Nature’s—self bega… 'Twas one vast Nothing, all, and… II. Thine was the sway, ere heav’n was…
The Mighty Mother, and her son wh… The Smithfield muses to the ear o… I sing. Say you, her instruments… Called to this work by Dulness, J… You by whose care, in vain decried…
Fain would my Muse the flow’ry Tr… And humble glories of the youthful… Where opening Roses breathing swe… And soft Carnations show’r their… Where Lilies smile in virgin robe…
Not with more glories, in th’ ethe… The sun first rises o’er the purpl… Than, issuing forth, the rival of… Launch’d on the bosom of the silve… Fair nymphs, and well—dress’d yout…
As some fond virgin, whom her moth… Drags from the town to wholesome c… Just when she learns to roll a mel… And hear a spark, yet think no dan… From the dear man unwillingly she…
Thy forests, Windsor! and thy gre… At once the Monarch’s and the Mus… Invite my lays. Be present, sylva… Unlock your springs, and open all… Granville commands; your aid O Mu…
Dear, damn’d distracting town, far… Thy fools no more I’ll tease: This year in peace, ye critics, dw… Ye harlots, sleep at ease! Soft B—and rough C—s adieu,
Say, lovely youth, that dost my he… Can Phaon’s eyes forget his Sapph… Must then her name the wretched wr… To thy remembrance lost, as to thy… Ask not the cause that I new numb…
Women ben full of Ragerie, Yet swinken not sans secresie. Thilke Moral shall ye understond, From Schoole—boy’s Tale of fayre… Which to the Fennes hath him beta…
Celia, we know, is sixty—five, Yet Celia’s face is seventeen; Thus winter in her breast must liv… While summer in her face is seen. How cruel Celia’s fate, who hence
Learn then what morals critics oug… For 'tis but half a judge’s task,… ‘Tis not enough, taste, judgment,… In all you speak, let truth and ca… That not alone what to your sense…
