The Works of the Late Aaron Hill :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Works of the Late Aaron Hill

... In Four Volumes. Consisting of Letters on Various Subjects, And of Original Poems, Moral and Facetious. With An Essay on the Art of Acting

Hill, Aaron (1685-1750)

ORIGINAL POEMS.

Prologue, for Mr. Garrick;

Sent to Lord Chesterfield; writ on a blank Leaf, of a Poem, called, The Religion of Reason.

Stung by a Nettle

The Lover's Degree of Comparison.

To a satirical young Lady.

To Celinda, complaining that her Harpsichord was out of Tune.

To the Preacher of an excellent Charity Sermon

To the excellent Daughters of a deceas'd Lady.

Prologue,

Paraphrase on the third Chapter of Habakuk.

The Muse's Expostulation,

An Epigram,

To Mrs. L---r, playing on a Bass-Viol.

On a Lady, preach'd into the Cholic, by one of her Lovers.

To a Lady,

The CHANGE;

A SONG.

On the March of the Russian Auxiliaries, in 1748.

Hint from some old Verses,

Writ on a blank Leaf of an obscene Poem.

On the Birth-day of Miss ---

The GLOVE.

Ronald and Dorna;

Writ on a blank Leaf of Merope;

EPIGRAM.

Abstract from Psalm cxiv.

The Singing-Bird.

To the un-declared Author of the Poem, call'd Patriotic Love.

A SONG.

My Soul's last Sighs, to the divine L---r---a.

Pallas's Whisper,

Verses, to the unknown Author of the Rover Reclaim'd;

To Mr. James Thompson;

TIDDI DOLL.

A SONG.

The Western Paradise.

A SONG.

On a Rakish Officer,

A Translation, from some Italian Verses, of Mr. Milton;

Verses, writ for, and sent to, a Widow Gentlewoman,

The Stage's Improvement,

EPIGRAM.

St. Matthew, Chapter v.

St. Matthew, Chapter vi.

St. Matthew, Chapter vii

After reading an unknown Author's Book.

The Thoughts of a Cadet, the first Time upon Duty.

On a Miser.

The Misplac'd Love.

To the lovely Mrs. H---e,

Prologue, to Harry the 5th;

Passing a Lady, in the Park, without seeing her.

To the Lady, that laughs, at dying in Metaphor.

Modesty.

To a Lady,

To the Lady who sends me all her good Wishes.

To a Lady,

A SONG.

To a Lady,

Writ upon a Pain of Glass in Westminster House.

To a Lady,

Bellaria,

Celia,

The Recollected Complainer.

The Resignation.

Copies, for Children to learn to write.

Advice to the Virgins,

Lesbia's Lamentation,

The Messenger.

To Dr. Atkins,

The Mis-grounded Compassion.

On the Death of the Czarina,

A SONG.

The Gnat.

The Kiss, through a Window.

Epitaph, on the Tomb of Henry Jernegan, Esq

Writ on a Glass Window.

The Happy Man.

The Power of Royal Pity.

An Ode; on Occasion of Mr. Handel's great Te Deum,

The Lover's Complaint.

The Transport.

The Statesman.

SOLITUDE.

On Mr. Cowley's introducing Pindaric Verse.

The Miracle at Cana.

On hearing a very dull Sermon.

Arria and Pætus, from Martial.

An EPITAPH.

Teresa, to Du-Mont.

Du-Mont to Teresa.

To Celinda, desiring him to describe her.

On the Death of Prince George, of Denmark.

PROLOGUE,

PROLOGUE, for a Friend.

The EPILOGUE.

On the broad-brim'd Hats,

The Sun-flower.

The Discovery.

To Liberia,

The Motto on Pug's Collar.

To my dear, and ever honoured Mother;

An Epitaph,

A Dialogue between Damon and Philemon,

A Dialogue, between Damon and Philemon,

To a Lady,

Plain Truth.

Celinda, in the Snow.

To a Reverend Friend,

The Disparity.

Martial Epig. 59, Lib. 7.

Moses's Song of Thanksgiving.

David's Elegy, for the Death of Saul and Jonathan.

To Celia.

To a Lady, on calling me Jealous.

Alone, in an Inn,

EPILOGUE, to Euridice

To Miranda, after Marriage;

Epitaph, on a young Lady,

Blowing Kisses, at the Play-house.

Augusta's Complaint to her Thames.

To the unknown Author of the beautiful new Piece, call'd Pamela.

On Corinna's first Attempt in Poetry.

The Valentine.

The Revenge.

To the Flattering Incognita.

Jostling, in Snowy Weather.

Psalm lv. Verse 6.

The Amorous Scrutiny.

Liberia, watch'd at Midnight.

On Eliza's design'd Voyage to Spain.

On Occasion of some Verses, from Eliza.

PROLOGUE.

To Lord George Grahme;

In a blank Leaf of a Book, sent to Miranda.

The Progress of Wit; a Caveat.

The Art of Acting.

The Dedication of the Beech-tree;

ORIGINAL POEMS.

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Stung by a Nettle

Revenge, you see, is sure, though sometimes slow!
Take this—'tis all the pain I'd have you know!
There's odds enough, yet left, betwixt our smart,
I sting your fingers, and you sting my heart.