Alcidor
While Monarchs in stern Battle strove For proud Imperial Sway; Abandon’d to his milder Love, Within a silent peaceful Grove, Alcidor careless lay. Some term’d it cold, unmanly Fear; Some, Nicety of Sense, That
The Marriage of Edward Herbert Esquire, and Mrs. Elizabeth Herbert
CUPID one day ask’d his Mother, When she meant that he shou’d Wed? You’re too Young, my Boy, she said: Nor has Nature made another Fit to match with Cupid’s Bed. Cupid then her
To Death
O King of Terrors, whose unbounded Sway All that have Life, must certainly Obey; The King, the Priest, the Prophet, all are Thine, Nor wou’d ev’n God (in Flesh) thy Stroke decline. My Name
To A Husband
This is to the crown and blessing of my life, The much loved husband of a happy wife; To him whose constant passion found the art To win a stubborn and ungrateful heart, And
To The Nightingale
Exert thy Voice, sweet Harbinger of Spring! This Moment is thy Time to sing, This Moment I attend to Praise, And set my Numbers to thy Layes. Free as thine shall be my Song;
For the Better
A Quack, to no true Skill in Physick bred, With frequent Visits cursed his Patient’s Bed; Enquiring, how he did his Broths digest, How chim’d his Pulse, and how he took his Rest: If
The Eagle, The Sow, And The Cat
THE Queen of Birds, t’encrease the Regal Stock, Had hatch’d her young Ones in a stately Oak, Whose Middle-part was by a Cat possest, And near the Root with Litter warmly drest, A teeming
Cupid And Folly
CUPID, ere depriv’d of Sight, Young and apt for all Delight, Met with Folly on the way, As Idle and as fond of Play. In gay Sports the time they pass; Now run, now
Man's Injustice Towards Providence
A Thriving Merchant, who no Loss sustained, In little time a mighty Fortune gain’d. No Pyrate seiz’d his still returning Freight; Nor foundring Vessel sunk with its own Weight: No Ruin enter’d through dissever’d
The Equipage
Since the Road of Life’s so ill; I, to pass it, use this Skill, My frail Carriage driving home To its latest Stage, the Tomb. Justice first, in Harness strong, Marches stedfastly along: Charity,
The Shepherd And The Calm
Soothing his Passions with a warb’ling Sound, A Shepherd-Swain lay stretch’d upon the Ground; Whilst all were mov’d, who their Attention lent, Or with the Harmony in Chorus went, To something less than Joy,
A Tale of the Miser and the Poet
A WIT, transported with Inditing, Unpay’d, unprais’d, yet ever Writing; Who, for all Fights and Fav’rite Friends, Had Poems at his Fingers Ends; For new Events was still providing; Yet now desirous to be
A Song
Persuade me not, there is a Grace Proceeds from Silvia’s Voice or Lute, Against Miranda’s charming Face To make her hold the least Dispute. Musick, which tunes the Soul for Love, And stirs up
The Philosopher, the Young Man, and his Statue
A Fond Athenian Mother brought A Sculptor to indulge her Thought, And carve her Only Son; Who to such strange perfection wrought, That every Eye the Statue caught Nor ought was left undone. A
The LORD and the BRAMBLE
To view his stately Walks and Groves, A Man of Pow’r and Place Was hast’ning on; but as he roves, His Foe the slighted Bramble proves, And stops his eager Pace. That Shrub was