#IrishWriters
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…
Now kind now coy wth how much chan… You feed my fierce desire As if to more extravagance Youd manage up the fire In vain if this your meaning be
Have mercy mercy Lord on us & grant thy blessed grace Direct us in ye way of life By th’ sunshine of thy face So all the nations on the earth
Holy Jesus! God of Love! Look with pity from above, Shed the precious purple tide From thine hands, thy feet, thy si… Let thy streams of comfort roll,
Upon a time, and in a place, With Pan Apollo playd, Grave Midas sat to Judge ye case, And Pan ye Victour made. The Rustick to his Fauns withdrew…
Mother of plenty, daughter of the… Sweet Peace, the troubl’d world’s… Around thy poet weave thy summer s… Within my fancy spread thy flow’ry… Amongst thy train soft ease and pl…
Thus sung the king’some angel re… From Eden’s tree to crown the wis… And now thou fairest garden ever m… Broad banks of spices, blossom’d w… O Lebanon! where much I love to d…
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,
My days have been so wondrous free… The little birds that fly With careless ease from tree to tr… Were but as bless’d as I. Ask gliding waters, if a tear
When rosy-finger’d Morn had ting’… Around their Monarch-Mouse the N… Slow rose the Monarch, heav’d his… And thus, the Council fill’d with… For lost Psycarpax much my Soul e…
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…
Gays gon out early, how comes it t… Not that he has buisness, but thin…
Thou Gaudy Idle world adieu, & all thy tinsell Joys; I lovd thee dearly once tis true, But since a better choice I knew, Ive made that better choice.
From Town fair Arabella flies, The Beaux unpowder’d grieve, The Rivers play before her eyes, The Breezes softly breathing rise The Spring begins to live.
Alas will nothing do, Nothing arrest the arm of Death Must learning, sence, nay virtue t… Must these or. real blessings go like all things else beneath?