Mistress Gurton's Cat
Old MISTRESS GURTON had a Cat, A Tabby, loveliest of the race, Sleek as a doe, and tame, and fat With velvet paws, and whisker’d face; The Doves of VENUS not so fair, Nor
Male Fashions for 1799
Crops like hedgehogs, high-crown’d hats, Whispers like Jew MOSES ; Padded collars, thick cravats, And cheeks as red as roses. Faces painted pink and brown ; Waistcoats strip’d and gaudy ; Sleeves thrice doubled
Ode to Despair
TERRIFIC FIEND! thou Monster fell, Condemn’d in haunts profane to dwell, Why quit thy solitary Home, O’er wide Creation’s paths to roam? Pale Tyrant of the timid Heart, Whose visionary spells can bind The
Sonnet XII: Now, O'er the Tesselated Pavement
Now, o’er the tessellated pavement strew Fresh saffron, steep’d in essence of the rose, While down yon agate column gently flows A glitt’ring streamlet of ambrosial dew! My Phaon smiles! the rich carnation’s hue,
The Faded Bouquet
FAIR was this blushing ROSE of May, And fresh it hail’d morn’s breezy hour, When ev’ry spangled leaf look’d gay, Besprinkled with the twilight show’r; When to its mossy buds so sweet, The BUTTERFLY
Lines to Him Who Will Understand Them
THOU art no more my bosom’s FRIEND; Here must the sweet delusion end, That charm’d my senses many a year, Thro’ smiling summers, winters drear. O, FRIENDSHIP! am I doom’d to find Thou art
Sonnet IV: Why, When I Gaze
Why, when I gaze on Phaon’s beauteous eyes, Why does each thought in wild disorder stray? Why does each fainting faculty decay, And my chill’d breast in throbbing tumults rise? Mute, on the ground
Sonnet to Ingratitude
He that’s ungrateful, has no guilt but one; All other crimes may pass for virtues in him. – YOUNG. I COULD have borne affliction’s sharpest thorn; The sting of malicepoverty’s deep wound; The sneers
Sonnet XVIII: Why Art Thou Chang'd?
Why art thou chang’d? O Phaon! tell me why? Love flies reproach, when passion feels decay; Or, I would paint the raptures of that day, When, in sweet converse, mingling sigh with sigh, I
January, 1795
Pavement slipp’ry, people sneezing, Lords in ermine, beggars freezing ; Titled gluttons dainties carving, Genius in a garret starving. Lofty mansions, warm and spacious ; Courtiers clinging and voracious ; Misers scarce the wretched
Female Fashions for 1799
A form, as any taper, fine ; A head like half-pint bason ; Where golden cords, and bands entwine, As rich as fleece of JASON. A pair of shoulders strong and wide, Like country
The Trumpeter, an Old English Tale
It was in the days of a gay British King (In the old fashion’d custom of merry-making) The Palace of Woodstock with revels did ring, While they sang and carous’d one and all: For
The Deserted Cottage
Who dwelt in yonder lonely Cot, Why is it thus forsaken? It seems, by all the world forgot, Above its path the high grass grows, And through its thatch the northwind blows Its thatch,
To Simplicity
[Inscribed to Lady Duncannon.] SWEET blushing Nymph, who loves to dwell In the dark forest’s silent gloom; Who smiles within the Hermit’s cell, And sighs upon the rustic’s tomb; Who, pitying, sees the busy
Deborah's Parrot, a Village Tale
‘Twas in a little western town An ancient Maiden dwelt: Her name was MISS, or MISTRESS, Brown, Or DEBORAH, or DEBBY: She Was doom’d a Spinster pure to be, For soft delights her breast