English poem
To the most Honourable the Earl of OXFORD, The Lord High Treasurer
by Anonymous
I'm no more to converse with the swains, But go where fine people resort; One can live without money on plains, But never without it at court.
Yet if when with swains I did gambol, I array'd me in silver and blue, When abroad and in courts I shall ramble, Pray, my Lord, how much money will do?
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- To the Mother
- To the Nightingale Coming in the Spring; to Invite Chlos from the Tumults of the Town to the Innocent Retreat…
- To the Painter of an ill-drawn Picture of CLEONE, the Honorable Mrs. Thynne
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