At Home The Hateful Names Of Parties

There's A Proud Modesty In Merit; Averse From Asking, And Resolved To Pay Ten Times The Gifts It Asks.

She Feared No Danger, For She Knew No Sin.

While I Am Compassed Round With Mirth, My Soul Lies Hid In Shades Of Grief, Whence, Like The Bird Of Night, With Half-shut Eyes, She Peeps, And Sickens At The Sight Of Day.

My Right Eye Itches, Some Good Luck Is Near.

Satire Among The Romans, But Not Among The Greeks, Was A Bitter Invective Poem.