A wit, by learning well refined, A beau, but of the rural kind, To Sylvia made pretences; They both profess’d an equal love, Yet hoped by different means to mo…

The lovely Delia smiles again! That killing frown has left her br… Can she forgive my jealous pain, And give me back my angry vow? Love is an April’s doubtful day;

Aliusque et idem. (Another and the same). When Tom to Cambridge first was s… A plain brown bob he wore; Read much, and look’d as though he…

On fair Asteria’s blissful plains… Where ever-blooming fancy reigns, How pleased we pass the winter’s d… And charm the dull-eyed Spleen aw… No linnet, from the leafless bough…

O’er desert plains, and rushy mere… And wither’d heaths I rove; Where tree, nor spire, nor cot, ap… I pass to meet my love. But, though my path were damask’d…

Yes; Fulvia is like Venus fair, Has all her bloom, and shape, and… But still, to perfect every grace, She wants-the smile upon her face. The crown majestic Juno wore;

Caetera per terras omnes animalia,… Imitation. All animals beside, o’er all the e… On distant heaths, beneath autumna… Pensive I saw the circling shade…

What village but has sometimes see… The clumsy shape, the frightful mi… Tremendous claws, and shagged hair Of that grim brute yclept a bear? He from his dam the learn’d agree,

Yes, these are the scenes where wi… But short was her sway for so love… In the bloom of her youth to a clo… In the bloom of her graces too fai… Ill-grounded, no doubt, a devotion…

So dear my Lucio is to me, So well our minds and tempers blen… That seasons may for ever flee, And ne’er divide me from my friend… But let the favour’d boy forbear

’Tis said that under distant skies… Nor you the fact deny, What first attracts an Indian’s e… Becomes his deity. Perhaps a lily, or a rose,

Perhaps it is not love, said I, That melts my soul when Flavia’s… Where wit and sense like hers agre… One may be pleased, and yet be fre… The beauties of her polish’d mind

Adieu, ye jovial Youths! who join To plunge old Care in floods of w… And, as your dazzled eyeballs roll… Discern him struggling in the bowl… Nor yet is hope so wholly flown,

Of all that gives politeness birth… Of all that claims to please, In motion, manners, or in mirth, The surest source is ease. With silent step, and graceful air…

Martial. O Fortune! if my prayer of old Was ne’er solicitous for gold, With better grace thou may’st allo… My suppliant wish, that asks it no…