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A collection of original poems and translations

By John Whaley
Whaley, John (1710-1745)

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[dedication]
 
CORNARO and the TURK,
 
A JOURNEY TO HOUGHTON,
 
PROTHALAMIUM
 
To C. P. Esq.
 
THE DISSAPPOINTMENT.
 
ODE.
 
VERSES
 
A Thought on Gaming.
 
To I. D. Esq.
 
A SONG
 
ANOTHER.
 
To a Lady
 
ODE
 
To a Friend.
 
In Imitation of Horace,
 
In Imitation of Horace.
 
Translation of Tibullus.
 
Translation of Tibullus.
 
To R. D. Esq.
 
Translation from Tibullus.
 
On reading Lord Bacon's Flattery to King James I.
 
Epitaph on Charles VI. Emperor of Germany.
 
In Praise of Water. A. D. 1736.
 
Imitation of Horace.
 
To C. P. Esq.
 
To Lydia.
 
Translation of Theocritus.
 
Translation from Theocritus,
 
Translation from Theocritus.
 
Vacuna.
 
Rhapsody, to Milton.
 
A Voyage to Tinterne Abbey in Monmouthshire, from Whitminster in Glocestershire.
 
To J. W.
 
On J. W. ranging Pamphlets.
 
To the Hon. and Rev. ------
 
At seeing Archbishop Williams's Monument in Carnarvonshire.
 
A Song of Deborah.
 
The Nativity.
 
To the Spring.
 
To the Queen of Hungary 1741.
 
To C. P. Esq.
 
A Night Thought.
 
EPITHALAMIUM.
 
To a Gentleman,
 
Imitation of Horace.
 
On two Friends born on the same Day.
 
On the Death of Mrs. M. H.
 
To Miss A. W. a very young Lady.
 
To the Sparrows at Menwinyon in Cornwal.
 
An ODE, to the Right Honourable Sir Robert Walpole, Knight of the most noble Order of the Garter, February 6. 1741. On his ceasing to be Minister.
 
On a young Lady of the North.
 
To Alexander Pope, Esq. On his Essay of Man.
 
On a young Lady working green Silk on a white Sattin Ground.
 
To a young Lady, who Paints very well, but always Draws her own Sex to Disadvantage.
 
To the same.
 
To the same.
 
To *****
 
On the Tomb of the Virgin Laura.
 
Epitaph on Albina.
 
On Charinus the Husband of an ugly Wife.
 
On the Statue of a Heifer.
 
ABELARD to HELOISA.
 
ON THE Death of a Young Bride.
 
THESEUS and ARIADNE.
 
Looking on a Tomb Stone,
 
On a Wasp's settling on Delia's Arm.
 
To the Rev. T. T. D. D.

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Cornaro see, in other Guise appear!
Sudden he stopp'd the commendable Tear.
“And be, he said, my Soul, thy Joy exprest,
“'Tis in thy Pow'r to make the Wretched blest.
“Now am I blest indeed, since on my Wealth
“Depends another's Being, Freedom, Health.
9

“'Tis I can bid the Sun of Mercy shine;
“This Man's Peace, Life, and Liberty are mine.
“Whatever Joys he has or may receive,
“His Country, Children, Wives are mine to give;
“Now India's Lord, amidst his hoarded Store,
“And endless Mines, compar'd with me is poor.
“Quick then, Cornaro to his Ransom flee,
“And let this Morning's Sun behold him free.
Strait to the Lordly Governor's he went,
His Name, his Rank, his Cause of coming sent;
Nor need he long to wait, his Errand told,
Bringing, that ne'er refus'd Credential, Gold.
The Price requir'd for Liberty he gave,
And quick return'd to find the now but fancy'd Slave,
And said,—“Be free: His Transports who can tell?
Prostrate before him in wild Joy he fell,
Which only his who caus'd it cou'd excel.
Gladness and wonder in his Bosom wrought,
With lab'ring Gratitude his Soul was fraught,
Nor had he Pow'r to utter half he thought.
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