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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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326

Looking on a Tomb Stone,

The Interred speak.

And so with Look inquisitive you muse
On the cold Earth that close invirons me,
Pleas'd that thyself art free—but ah! how long
Who knows, when he who rais'd thee into Being,
May check his mighty Voice—his Voice, thy Frame
Solely supporting, and permit the Dust
Again into its moulder'd State to drop!
Yet not for ought that Pow'r Almighty can,
Or human Imbecillity can not,
Doth the Fool-wicked stop his wild Career,
But boldly impious pushes still his Course,
'Till Death, the last dread Monitor intrudes.
Away, Repent, and be for ever wise.
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