#IrishWriters
When Spring came on with fresh De… To cheer the Soul, and charm the… While easy Breezes, softer Rain, And warmer Suns salute the Plain; ’Twas then, in yonder Piny Grove,
Hail to the sacred silence of this… Hail to the greens below the green… Oft have I found beneath these sh… A reall in imaginary bliss for they my fancy sooth she’s a c…
Now early Shepherds o’er the Mead… And print long Foot-steps in the… The Cows neglectful of their Past… By turns obsequious to the Milker… When Damon softly trod the shaven…
To friend with fingers quick &… I send this piece of tunefull timb… that, as ’tis said in Orpheus stor… He may teach trees to dance a Bor… Or else in modern Phrase more kna…
Ye Wives who scold fishes sell, Or sing sell your fruit, I want a wondrous thing to tell, Then (if you can) be mute. From some of You one Homer came,
Art thou alive? It cannot be, There’s so much Rottenness in The… Corruption only is in Death; And what’s more Putrid than thy B… Think not you Live, because you S…
Giddy wth fond ambition, mad wth p… Apostate angells once ev’n heavn d… Avenging heavn its hottest bolts p… And hell and thunder provd their s… Yet foolish man by no example won,
Thyrsis, a young and am’rous Swai… Saw two, the Beauties of the Plai… Who both his Heart subdue: Gay Cælia’s Eyes were dazzling fa… Sabina’s easy Shape and Air
In Britain’s Isle and Arthur’s d… When Midnight Faeries daunc’d the… Liv’d Edwin of the Green; Edwin, I wis, a gentle Youth, Endow’d with Courage, Sense and…
Hadst thou but livd before ye God… That Heathens ownd ye world might… ‘If any settled seat ye Muses use ’Thou art that seat or art thy sel…
For Nothing Lucy never plays ye w… Thats true’for Lucy ever pays b…
Once Pope under Jevais resolvd to… & from a Good Poet Pope turnd… So from a Good Painter Charles J… May turn an ill Poet by living wi… Then Each may perform the true pa…
Oft have I read that Innocence re… Where cooling streams salute ye su… Singing at ease she roves ye field… Or safe with shepheards lys among… But late alas I crossd a country…
In Biddy’s Cheeks ye roses blow In Cattys nose they rise From Biddys lips soft accents flo… And streams from Catty’s Eyes The jet that Biddy’s brows displa…
A Beavy of the fair & Gay, Such as are daily Smoakt in tea, & toasted over wine, Vext to be made so long the Jeast Of tongues & pens, to go in qu…