#IrishWriters
As Pope who gathers mony to trans… With Gay the Shepheard Writer me… Says Pope, your Ecclogues wont co… For Phillips to reprieve him Tons… Indeed the story may be true, says…
Where waving Pines the brows of I… The swain young Paris half supine… Saw the loose Flocks thro’ shrubs… And Piping call’d them to the gla… ’Twas there he met the Message of…
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…
From that dire æra, bane to Saru… Which broke his schemes and laid h… He talks and writes that Pop’ry w… And we, and he, and all his works… What touch’d himself was almost fa…
To the kind powr who taught me how… Thus with the first of all wch he… Did ancient piety approach the Go… Defended long by prejudice & p… Ive fancyd love a cant its god def…
When ore my temples balmy vapours… Whose soft suffusion dims the sink… Gay dreams in troops fantastically… On silent plumes wave down through… Nights sable curtains draw before…
Grant heav’n that I may chuse my… If you design me worldly Happines… Tis not Honour thats but air Glory has but fancied light Fame as oft speak’s false as right
Health & advice an old acquain… Health & advice, the wish &… Tis fitt I teach the templar how… Who teaches me with temperance to… Be still then murmuring Clients f…
The Man whose Judgement Joynd wi… The lives of Popes & lives of… Who sung true Pleasure showd ye G… And taught Wild Youth to shun ye… Who wrote all this—Who more than…
Time Sire of years unwind thy lea… & still the past recall to pre… Spread forth its circles, swiftly… But where an action’s nobly sung b… There stop & stay for me whose…
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
When thy Beauty appears In its Graces and Airs, All bright as an Angel new dropt… At distance I gaze, and am aw’d b… So strangely you dazzle my Eye!
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…
When Pop’ry s arbitrary yoak Britannia feard of late To liberty Religion spoke To save ye sinking state Joy of the World the Goddess said
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…
