#Irish #XVIICentury #XVIIICentury
Resolv’d my annual verse to pay, By duty bound, on Stella’s day, Furnish’d with paper, pens, and in… I gravely sat me down to think: I bit my nails, and scratch’d my h…
Midas, we are in story told, Turn’d every thing he touch’d to g… He chipp’d his bread; the pieces r… Glitter’d like spangles on the gro… A codling, ere it went his lip in,
Her dead lady’s joy and comfort, Who departed this life The last day of March, 1727: To the great joy of Bryan That his antagonist is gone.
The Dean would visit Market-hill; Our invitation was but slight; I said—why—Let him if he will, And so I bid Sir Arthur write. His manners would not let him wait…
IN ancient times, as story tells, The saints would often leave their… And stroll about, but hide their q… To try good people’s hospitality. It happened on a winter night,
I’m wealthy and poor, I’m empty and full, I’m humble and proud, I’m witty and dull. I’m foul and yet fair:
Corinna, Pride of Drury-Lane, For whom no Shepherd sighs in vai… Never did Covent Garden boast So bright a batter’d, strolling T… No drunken Rake to pick her up,
Desponding Phillis was endu’d With ev’ry Talent of a Prude, She trembled when a Man drew near… Salute her, and she turn’d her Ea… If o’er against her you were plac’…
From Heaven I fall, though from e… No lady alive can show such a skin… I’m bright as an angel, and light… But heavy and dark, when you squee… Though candour and truth in my asp…
An orator dismal of Nottinghamshi… Who has forty years let out his co… Out of zeal for his country, and w… Is come up, vi et armis, to break… He has vamp’d an old speech, and t…
Here lies the Earl of Suffolk’s f… Men call’d him Dicky Pearce; His folly served to make folks lau… When wit and mirth were scarce. Poor Dick, alas! is dead and gone…
The Farmer’s Goose, who in the S… Has fed without Restraint, or Tro… Grown fat with Corn and Sitting s… Can scarce get o’er the Barn-Door… And hardly waddles forth, to cool
Poor Hall, renown’d for comely ha… Whose hands, perhaps, were not so… Yet had a Jezebel as near; Hall, of small scripture conversat… Yet, howe’er Hungerford’s quotati…
Robin to beggars with a curse, Throws the last shilling in his pu… And when the coachman comes for pa… The rogue must call another day. Grave Harry, when the poor are pr…
Though I, alas! a prisoner be, My trade is prisoners to set free. No slave his lord’s commands obeys With such insinuating ways. My genius piercing, sharp, and bri…
