Epigram Engraved on the Collar of a Dog Which I Gave to His Royal Highness
I am his Highness' dog at Kew;
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you
I am his Highness' dog at Kew;
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you
I
Silence
coeval with Eternity;
Thou wert, ere Nature's-self began to be,'Twas one vast Nothing, all, and all slept fast in thee
Semichorus
Oh Tyrant Love
hast thou
The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breast
All hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade
Scene of my youthful loves and happier hours
Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd,
And gently press'd my hand, and said "Be ours
Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures:
Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe jocoso,
Defendente vicem modo Rhetoris atque Poetae,
Interdum urbani, parcentis viribus,
Happy the man, whose wish and careA few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground
Whose heards with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Celia, we know, is sixty-five,
Yet Celia's face is seventeen;
Thus winter in her breast must live,
While summer in her face is seen
Dear, damn'd distracting town, farewell
Thy fools no more I'll tease:
This year in peace, ye critics, dwell,
Ye harlots, sleep at ease
Part
ON
That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public
That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius
Strophe I
Ye shades, where sacred truth is sought;
Groves, where immortal Sages taught;
Where heav'nly visions of Plato fir'd,
In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells, And ever-musing melancholy reigns; What means this tumult in a vestal's veins
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat
Why feels my heart its long...
Women ben full of Ragerie,
Yet swinken not sans secresie
Thilke Moral shall ye understond,
From Schoole-boy's Tale of fayre Irelond: