As Pope who gathers mony to trans… With Gay the Shepheard Writer me… Says Pope, your Ecclogues wont co… For Phillips to reprieve him Tons… Indeed the story may be true, says…

When thy beauty appears In its graces and airs All bright as an angel new dropp’d… At distance I gaze and am awed by… So strangely you dazzle my eye!

Strephon & I upon a bank were… Where the gay spring in varied col… & her rich odours lavish natur… When thus the Youth, while this w… Can we but wonder at its maker too…

As thro’ the Psalms from theme to… Methinks like Eve in Paradice I… And ev’ry grace of song I seem’d… As the gay pride of ev’ry season,… She gently treading all the walks…

Some ages has the stage triumphant… and vice in masquerade debauchd th… In charming numbers, all bewitchin… has the gay syren drest to steal o… like undesigning pleasure she appe…

From Town fair Arabella flies, The Beaux unpowder’d grieve, The Rivers play before her eyes, The Breezes softly breathing rise The Spring begins to live.

Time Sire of years unwind thy lea… & still the past recall to pre… Spread forth its circles, swiftly… But where an action’s nobly sung b… There stop & stay for me whose…

A Beavy of the fair & Gay, Such as are daily Smoakt in tea, & toasted over wine, Vext to be made so long the Jeast Of tongues & pens, to go in qu…

To Henry, Lord Viscount Bolingbr… I hate the Vulgar with untuneful… Hearts uninspir’d, and Senses unr… Hence ye Prophane, I raise the so… And Bolingbroke descends to hear…

Just when ye dead of night began t… & boding visions senceless dre… Methought a matron stood beside my… Upon her face a wondrous sweetness… & pointed Glorys dressd the mo…

Mother of plenty, daughter of the… Sweet Peace, the troubl’d world’s… Around thy poet weave thy summer s… Within my fancy spread thy flow’ry… Amongst thy train soft ease and pl…

To stifle Passion is no easy Thin… A Heart in Love is always on the… The bold Betrayer flutters still, And fans the Breath prepar’d to t… It melts the Tongue, and tunes th…

Oft have I seen a Piece of Art, Of Light and Shade, the Mixture… Speak all the Passions of the Hea… And shew true Life in every Line. But what is this before my Eyes,

Ye Wives who scold fishes sell, Or sing sell your fruit, I want a wondrous thing to tell, Then (if you can) be mute. From some of You one Homer came,

My days have been so wondrous free… The little birds that fly With careless ease from tree to tr… Were but as bless’d as I. Ask gliding waters, if a tear