'Tis in the power of Poetry to insinuate into the inmost Recesses of…

Man is naturally a proud Animal, and is fond of nothing more than the Breath of Fame to sooth his Vanity, and flatter his Self-Admiration.

Fame, which is the opinion the World expresses of any Man's excellent Endowments, is the Idol to which the finest spirits have, in all Ages, burnt their Incense.

The sunn must lend his goulden beames, Soft windes their breath, green trees their shade, Sweete fields their flowers, cleare springs their streams, Ere such another smyle bee made.

Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea, Why takest thou its melancholy voice, And with that boding cry Why o'er the waves dost fly? O, rather, bird, with me Through the fair land rejoice!

We'll sport and be free with Moll, Betty, and Dolly, Have oysters and lobsters to cure melancholy: Fish-dinners will make a lass spring like a flea, Dame Venus, love's lady, Was born of the sea.

Nature gives a parting smile. As yet the blue-bells linger on the sod That copes the sheepfold ring; and in the woods A second blow of many flowers appears, Flowers faintly ting'd and breathing no perfume. But fruits, not blossoms, form …