Richard Ames

. . . No Monarch so bless'd, or so happy as me,
While thus, my dear Horace, I hug it in thee:
Admire it in loftier Virgil, or Smile
...

Amidst the Publick Joy, which every where,
With Acclamations, fills the yeilding Air,
Permit a Muse (all drench't in Tears) a while
...

How hardly we sad doleful Truths believe!
And though prepar'd, unwllingly we grieve.
But here's a Subject calls for Floods of Tears,
...

To all Pretty young Girls, by a late sawcy Pen,
Expos'd to an Auction as Matches for Men,
...

Consider, Reader, who lies here,
And for thy Loss then Drop a Tear;
'Tis BAXTER, whose unwearied Pen
Strove to Reform the Lives of Men:
...

Wisht morning arriv'd, where Men Ply for their Fares,
We took Oars, and were Landed at Parliament-Stairs;
...

Love is not Wounds, nor Darts, nor Fire,
Nor an unbridled wild Desire:
That never holds which runs too fast;
What's Violent can never last.
...

Ah me! How great a Cordial's Hope,
When sawcy Fear don't interlope?
How sweetly at the Tett we tipple,
Till Fear puts Wormwood on the Nipple?
...

I.
Tis so—I feel the warm Poetick Fire
Glow in my Breast, and vig'rous Thoughts Inspire,
In flowing Dress I see the Muse descend
...

To you the chief Grievance and Plague of the Time,
Heavy Thrashers of Prose, and Tormentors of Rhime.
...

I.
Ah! tell me why (mistaken Sex) do we
So little real Beauty see
In the admired adored Athenian Deity.
...

To all Lovers, Admirers and Doters on Claret,
(Who tho' at Deaths-Door, yet can hadly forbear it)
Who can Miracles credit, and fancy Red-Port
...

Tho nothing else these lines can recommend,
They'll show I'm not asham'd to own my Friend:
Who e're upon his Ashes rudely tread,
...