#IrishWriters
If, dearest Dismal, you for once… Upon a single dish, and tavern win… Toland to you this invitation send… To eat the calfs head with your tr… Suspend awhile your vain ambitious…
All of us in one you’ll find, Bre… Yet among us all no brother Knows one tittle of the other; We in frequent councils are, And our marks of things declare,
Pallas, observing Stella’s wit Was more than for her sex was fit, And that her beauty, soon or late, Might breed confusion in the state… In high concern for human kind,
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…
When on my bosom thy bright eyes, Florinda, dart their heavenly beam… I feel not the least love surprise… Yet endless tears flow down in str… There’s nought so beautiful in the…
Don Carlos, in a merry spight, Did Stella to his house invite: He entertain’d her half a year With generous wines and costly che… Don Carlos made her chief directo…
Begotten, and born, and dying with… The terror of women, and pleasure… Like the fiction of poets concerni… I’m chiefly unruly when strongest… For silver and gold I don’t troub…
This day, whate’er the Fates decr… Shall still be kept with joy by me… This day, then, let us not be told That you are sick, and I grown ol… Nor think on our approaching ills,
From London to Exon, By special direction, Came down the world’s wonder, Sir Salathiel Blunder, With a quoif on his head
While, Stella, to your lasting pr… The Muse her annual tribute pays, While I assign myself a task Which you expect, but scorn to ask… If I perform this task with pain,
When a holy black Swede, the son… With a saint at his chin and a sea… Shall not see one New-Years-day i… Then let old England make good ch… Windsor and Bristol then shall be
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…
FROM Venus born, thy beauty show… But who thy father, no man knows: Nor can the skilful herald trace The founder of thy ancient race; Whether thy temper, full of fire,
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,
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…