- •A Letter from Italy
- •A Poem To His Magesty, Presented To The Lord Keeper. To The Right Hon. Sir John Somers, Lord Keeper
- •A Song For St. Cecilia's Day, At Oxford
- •An Account Of The Greatest English Poets
- •An Ode For St. Cecilia's Day
- •How Are Thy Servants Blest, o Lord!
- •In foreign realms, and lands remote, Supported by Thy care, Through burning climes they pass unhurt, And breathe in tainted air.
- •On The Lady Manchester
- •In midst of dangers, fears and death, Thy goodness we adore; We praise Thee for Thy mercies past, And humbly hope for more
- •Immortality
- •Prologue To Steele's Tender Husband
- •Psalm 23 : The Lord My Pasture Shall Prepare
- •The Lord My Pasture Shall Prepare
- •The Spacious Firmament
- •In Reason's Ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious Voice, For ever singing, as they shine, The Hand that made us is Divine. To Mr. Dryden
- •When all Thy Mercies, o My God
- •When Rising from The Bed of Death
- •If yet, while pardon may be found, And mercy may be sought, My heart with inward horror shrinks, And trembles at the thought;
Prologue To Steele's Tender Husband
In the first rise and infancy of farce, When fools were many, and when plays were scarce The raw unpractis'd authors could, with ease, A young and unexperienc'd audience please: No single character had e'er been shown, But the whole herd of fops was all their own; Rich in originals, they set to view, In every piece, a coxcomb that was new. But now our British theatre can boast Drolls of all kinds, a vast unthinking host!
Fruitful of folly and of vice, it shows Cuckolds, and cits, and bawds, and pimps, and beaux; Rough country knights are found of every shire; Of every fashion gentle fops appear; And punks of different characters we meet, As frequent on the stage as in the pit. Our modern wits are forc'd to pick and cull, And here and there by chance glean up a fool: Long ere they find the necessary spark, They search the town, and beat about the Park,
To all his most frequented haunts resort, Oft dog him to the ring, and oft to court; As love of pleasure or of place invites; And sometimes catch him taking snuff at White's Howe'er, to do you right, the present age Breeds very hopeful monsters for the stage; That scorn the paths their dull forefather's trod, And won't be blockheads in the common road. Do but survey this crouded house tonight: --Here's still encouragement for those that write.
Our author, to divert his friends to-day, Stocks with variety of fools his play; And that there may be something gay and new, Two ladies-errant has expos'd to view; The first a damsel, travel'd in romance; The t'other more refin'd, she comes from France: Rescue, like courteous knights, the nymph from danger, And kindly treat, like well-bred men, the stranger.
Psalm 23 : The Lord My Pasture Shall Prepare
The Lord my pasture shall prepare And feed me with a shepherd's care; His presence shall my wants supply And guard me with a watchful eye; My noonday walks He shall attend And all my midnight hours defend.
When in the sultry glebe I faint Or on the thirsty mountain pant, To fertile vales and dewy meads My weary, wandering steps He leads, Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow, Amid the verdant landscape flow.
Though in a bare and rugged way, Through devious lonely wilds, I stray, Thy bounty shall my pains beguile; The barren wilderness shall smile, With sudden greens and herbage crowned, And streams shall murmur all around.
Though in the paths of death I tread, With gloomy horrors overspread, My steadfast heart shall fear no ill, For Thou, O Lord, art with me still; Thy friendly crook shall give me aid And guide me through the dreadful shade.
The Lord My Pasture Shall Prepare
The Lord my pasture shall prepare And feed me with a shepherd’s care; His presence shall my wants supply And guard me with a watchful eye; My noonday walks He shall attend And all my midnight hours defend.
When in the sultry glebe I faint Or on the thirsty mountain pant, To fertile vales and dewy meads My weary, wandering steps He leads, Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow, Amid the verdant landscape flow.
Though in the paths of death I tread, With gloomy horrors overspread, My steadfast heart shall fear no ill, For Thou, O Lord, art with me still; Thy friendly crook shall give me aid And guide me through the dreadful shade.
Though in a bare and rugged way, Through devious lonely wilds, I stray, Thy bounty shall my pains beguile; The barren wilderness shall smile, With sudden greens and herbage crowned, And streams shall murmur all around.