ON THE VOWELS

We are little airy creatures,
All of different voice and features;
One of us in glass is set,
One of us you’ll find in jet. 
T’other you may see in tin,
And the fourth a box within. 
If the fifth you should pursue,
It can never fly from you.

ON SNOW

From Heaven I fall, though from earth I begin,
No lady alive can show such a skin. 
I’m bright as an angel, and light as a feather,
But heavy and dark, when you squeeze me together. 
Though candour and truth in my aspect I bear,
Yet many poor creatures I help to ensnare. 
Though so much of Heaven appears in my make,
The foulest impressions I easily take. 
My parent and I produce one another,
The mother the daughter, the daughter the mother.

ON A CANNON

Begotten, and born, and dying with noise,
The terror of women, and pleasure of boys,
Like the fiction of poets concerning the wind,
I’m chiefly unruly when strongest confined. 
For silver and gold I don’t trouble my head,
But all I delight in is pieces of lead;
Except when I trade with a ship or a town,
Why then I make pieces of iron go down. 
One property more I would have you remark,
No lady was ever more fond of a spark;
The moment I get one, my soul’s all a-fire,
And I roar out my joy, and in transport expire.

ON A PAIR OF DICE

We are little brethren twain,
Arbiters of loss and gain,
Many to our counters run,
Some are made, and some undone: 
But men find it to their cost,
Few are made, but numbers lost. 
Though we play them tricks for ever,
Yet they always hope our favour.

ON A CANDLE

TO LADY CARTERET

Of all inhabitants on earth,
To man alone I owe my birth,
And yet the cow, the sheep, the bee,
Are all my parents more than he: 
I, a virtue, strange and rare,
Make the fairest look more fair,
And myself, which yet is rarer,
Growing old, grow still the fairer. 
Like sots, alone I’m dull enough,
When dosed with smoke, and smear’d with snuff;
But, in the midst of mirth and wine,
I with double lustre shine. 
Emblem of the Fair am I,
Polish’d neck, and radiant eye;
In my eye my greatest grace,
Emblem of the Cyclops’ race;
Metals I like them subdue,
Slave like them to Vulcan too;
Emblem of a monarch old,
Wise, and glorious to behold;
Wasted he appears, and pale,
Watching for the public weal: 
Emblem of the bashful dame,
That in secret feeds her flame,
Often aiding to impart
All the secrets of her heart;
Various is my bulk and hue,
Big like Bess, and small like Sue: