SOLITUDE. A SONG. TO LADY COVENTRY'S MINUET. Nathaniel Cotton Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1137 K093079.004 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. IV. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 205-206. 4v. ; 8⁰.

This e-text is part of the Works section of the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

XML created for the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

The text has been typographically modernized, but without any silent modernization of spelling, capitalization, or punctuation. The source of the text is given and all editorial interventions have been recorded in textual notes. Based on the electronic text originally produced by the TCP project, this text has been edited to conform to the recommendations found in Level 5 of the Best Practices for TEI in Libraries version 4.0.0.

Library of Congress Name Authority File (LCNAF) text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center; text-align: right; text-align: left; display: inline font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;
SOLITUDE . A SONG . TO LADY COVENTRY'S MINUET . BY DR. COTTON . SWEET companion of the muse ! Gentle Solitude ! appear , All thy calm content infuse , Soften anguish , banish care : Lead me , O majestic queen ! Thro' the aromatic scene : Nature's copied here by art , Joyful we the fraud confess , Yet so well performs her part , 'Tis but Nature's better dress : Solitude here fix my seat , Here in Cowley's soft retreat . Lay me in the silent mead , Where the murmuring river flows , Where the elm expands the shade , And each rising beauty blows : There I'll say , in peace of mind , " Empty greatness fall behind . " Teach thy votary all the powers Of each plant , and every tree , Tell how short-liv'd are the flowers , Bring the moral home to me , Bid me fleeting life despise , Make me humble , make me wise . Pride within my lowly cell Never yet up-rear'd her head , Solitude , with thee I'll dwell ! Pride with me is long since dead : Cold to Pleasure , deaf to Praise , Here I wish to end my days .