#IrishWriters
How bless’d the man, how fully so, As far as man is bless’d below, Who taking up his cross essays To follow Jesus all his days, With resolution to obey,
By the blue taper’s trembling ligh… No more I waste the wakeful night… Intent with endless view to pore The schoolmen and the sages o’er: Their books from wisdom widely str…
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 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…
Compassion checks my spleen, yet… The tears a passage thro’ my swell… To laugh or weep at sins, might id… Unheedful passion, or unfruitful w… Satyr! arise, and try thy sharper…
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…
When thy beauty appears In its graces and airs All bright as an angel new dropp’d… At distance I gaze and am awed by… So strangely you dazzle my eye!
To stifle Passion is no easy Thin… A Heart in Love is always on the… The bold Betrayer flutters still, And fans the Breath prepar’d to t… It melts the Tongue, and tunes th…
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,
Oft have I seen a Piece of Art, Of Light and Shade, the Mixture… Speak all the Passions of the Hea… And shew true Life in every Line. But what is this before my Eyes,
The morning opens very freshly gay And life itself is in the month of… With green my fancy paints an arbo… And flowrets with a thousand colou… Then falls to weaving that, and sp…
Upon a Bed of humble clay In all her Garments loose A Prostitute my Mother lay To ev’ry Comer’s use. ‘Till one Gallant in heat of love
I look & in a moment run The poison thro’ my veins Nor Celia think your self too you… to give me amorous pains When heaven did the Sun create
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,
Arise my soul & hast away Thy god doth call & canst thou… Thee to his table he invites To tast of heavenly delights He sufferd death to sett thee free