Elegy in a Country Churchyard.
Rich with the spoils of time.*

A Long Story.
Rich windows that exclude the light,
And passages that lead to nothing.


1728 - 1774.

The Good-natured Man.

Act ii.

Measures, not men, have always been my mark.f

She stoops to Conquer.

Act i. Sc. 2.

A concatenation accordingly.

Act iv.

But there's no love lost between us.

* "Rich with the spoils of nature.” -Sir Thomas BROWNE, Relig. Med , Sect. xii.

† “Of this stamp is the cant of Not men, but measures ; a sort of charm by which many people get loose from every honorable engagement.” — BURKE, Present Discontents.

The Traveller.

Line 423.

Vain, very vain, my weary search to find
That bliss which only centres in the mind.

The Hermit.

And what is friendship but a name,

A charm that lulls to sleep,
A shade that follows wealth or fame,

And leaves the wretch to weep.


Line 96.

If not first, in the very first line.

Haunch of Venison. Such dainties to them, their health it might hurt ; It ’s like sending them ruffles when wanting a shirt.*

* “If your friend is in want, don't carry him to the tavern, where you treat yourself as well as him, and entail a thirst and headache upon him next morning. To treat a poor wretch with a bottle of Burgundy and fill his snuff-box, is like giving a pair of laced ruffles to a man that has never a shirt on his back.”.

Том Brown, Breen's English Literature.

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By the glare of false science betrayed,
That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind.


1741 - 1764.

Epistle to William Hogarth.
With curious art the brain, too finely wrought,
Preys on herself, and is destroyed by thought.



A Prayer for Indifference.
Nor peace nor ease the heart can know,

Which, like the needle true,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,

But, turning, trembles too.

“The pretty Fanny Macartney.” — Walpole's Memoirs.


1759 - 1796.

The Vision.
Misled by fancy's meteor ray,

By passion driven;
But yet the light that led astray

Was light from heaven.

And, like a passing thought, she fled

In light away.

Epistle to a Young Friend.
An Atheist's laugh 's a poor exchange

For Deity offended !

And may you better reck the rede,

Than ever did th' adviser !



Contemplation. Verse sweetens toil, however rude the sound ;

All at her work the village maiden sings, Nor, while she turns the giddy wheel around,

Revolves the sad vicissitudes of things.

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Not what we wish, but what we want.


1749 - 1789.

To the Cuckoo. Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No winter in thy year.



The Liberty Song. (1768).
Then join in hand, brave Americans all ;
By uniting we stand, by dividing we fall.

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