#EnglishWriters
The noble King of Brentford Was old and very sick, He summon’d his physicians To wait upon him quick; They stepp’d into their coaches
Come all ye Christian people, unt… ‘Tis about a base consperracy, as… ‘Twill make your hair to bristle u… When of this dread consperracy you… The news of this consperracy and v…
When fierce political debate Throughout the isle was storming, And Rads attacked the throne and… And Tories the reforming, To calm the furious rage of each,
O TIM, did you hear of thim Saxo… And read what the peepers report? They’re goan to recal the Liftina… And shut up the Castle and Coort! Our desolate counthry of Oireland…
By fate’s benevolent award, Should I survive the day, I’ll drink a bumper with my lord Upon the last of May. That I may reach that happy time
Wearied arm and broken sword Wage in vain the desperate fight: Round him press a countless horde, He is but a single knight. Hark! a cry of triumph shrill
One sees in Viteall Yard, Vere pleacemen do resort, A wenerable hinstitute, ’Tis call’d the Pallis Court. A gent as got his i on it,
No more, thou lithe and long-winge… No more across the sultry sands sh… Blunt idle talons, idle beak, with… Shatter against thy cage the wing… Long, sitting by their watchfires,…
I seem, in the midst of the crowd, The lightest of all; My laughter rings cheery and loud, In banquet and ball. My lip hath its smiles and its sne…
There’s in the Vest a city pleasa… To vich King Bladud gev his name, And in that city there’s a Cresce… Vere dwelt a noble knight of fame. Although that galliant knight is o…
A humble flower long time I pined Upon the solitary plain, And trembled at the angry wind, And shrunk before the bitter rain. And oh! ’twas in a blessed hour
Christmas is here: Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill, Little care we: Little we fear
‘Your Molly has never been false,… Since the last time we parted at… When I said that I would continue… And I gave you the ’bacco-box mar… When I passed a whole fortnight b…
Ye Genii of the nation, Who look with veneration. And Ireland’s desolation onsaysin… Ye sons of General Jackson, Who thrample on the Saxon,
Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tink, By the light of the star, On the blue river’s brink, I heard a guitar. I heard a guitar,