In All The Silent Manliness Of Grief.

Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog And In That Town A Dog Was Found, As Many Dogs There Be, Both Mongrel, Puppy, Whelp, And Hound, And Curs Of Low Degree.

Tenderness Is A Virtue.

A Night-cap Deck'd His Brows Instead Of Bay,- A Cap By Night, A Stocking All The Day.

All The Bloomy Flush Of Life Is Fled.

Whichever Way We Look The Prospect Is Disagreeable. Behind, We Have Left Pleasures We Shall Never Enjoy, And Therefore Regret; And Before, We See Pleasures Which We Languish To Possess, And Are Consequently Uneasy Till We Possess Them.