Manners, they say, by climate alter not, 121. 
Margaret, in happy hour, 102. 
Maternal lady with the virgin grace, 42. 
May the Babylonish curse, 34. 
Methinks how dainty sweet it were, reclin’d, 5, 311. 
Model of thy parent dear, 38. 
Much speech obscures the sense; the soul of wit, 122. 
Must I write with pen unwilling, 109. 
My feeble Muse, that fain her best wou’d, 110. 
Mystery of God! thou brave and beauteous world, 19.

Nigh London’s famous Bridge, a Gate more famed, 72. 
Not a woman, child, or man in, 120. 
Now, by Saint Hilary, 341. 
Now the calm evening hastily approaches, 356.

O gentle look, that didst my look beguile, 308. 
O!  I could laugh to hear the midnight wind, 5, 311. 
O Lady, lay your costly robes aside, 33. 
O lift with reverent hand that tarnish’d flower, 82. 
Of all that act, the hardest task is theirs, 145. 
Of these sad truths consideration had, 99. 
Off with Briareus, and his hundred hands, 359. 
On Emma’s honest brow we read display’d, 101. 
On the green hill top, 6. 
Once on a charger there was laid, 39. 
One summer night Sir Francis, as it chanced, 199.

Poor Iras’ faithful wolf-dog here I lie, 67. 
Princeps his rent from tinneries draws, 116.

Queen-bird that sittest on thy shining nest, 43. 
Quid vult iste equitans? et quid oclit ista virorum, 90.

Rare artist! who with half thy tools, or none, 59. 
Rogers, of all the men that I have known, 60. 
Roi’s wife of Brunswick Oels! 120. 
Rotha, how in numbers light, 108.

Sarah, blest wife of “Terah’s faithful Son,” 111. 
Sarah,—­your other name I know not, 112. 
Shall I praise a face unseen, 109. 
Sleep hath treasures worth retracing, 113. 
Small beauty to your Book my lines can lend, 110. 
Solemn Legends we are told, 108. 
Solitary man, around thee, 111. 
Some cry up Haydn, some Mozart, 83. 
Some poets by poetic law, 49. 
Soul-breathing verse, thy gentlest guise put on, 111. 
Such goodness in your face doth shine, 48. 
Suck, baby, suck, mother’s love grows by giving, 61.