#Irish
Of all inhabitants on earth, To man alone I owe my birth, And yet the cow, the sheep, the be… Are all my parents more than he: I, a virtue, strange and rare,
The Thresher Duck, could o’er the… The Proverb says; No Fence again… From threshing Corn, he turns to… For which Her My allows him Grai… Though ’tis confess’t, that those…
From distant regions Fortune send… An odd triumvirate of friends; Where Phoebus pays a scanty stipe… Where never yet a codling ripen’d: Hither the frantic goddess draws
APPLES Come buy my fine wares, Plums, apples and pears. A hundred a penny, In conscience too many:
FROM India’s burning clime I’m… With cooling gales like zephyrs fr… Not Iris, when she paints the sky… Can show more different hues than… Nor can she change her form so fas…
Shepherd. Echo, I ween, will i… And quaintly answer questions. Sh… Echo. Tr… Shepherd. What must we do our… Echo. Pr…
Don Carlos, in a merry spight, Did Stella to his house invite: He entertain’d her half a year With generous wines and costly che… Don Carlos made her chief directo…
From London to Exon, By special direction, Came down the world’s wonder, Sir Salathiel Blunder, With a quoif on his head
By haughty Celia spent in dressin… The goddess from her chamber issue… Arrayed in lace, brocades, and tis… Strephon, who found the room was v… And Betty otherwise employed,
This day, dear Bec, is thy nativi… Had Fate a luckier one, she’d giv… She chose a thread of greatest len… And doubly twisted it for strength… Nor will be able with her shears
When a holy black Swede, the son… With a saint at his chin and a sea… Shall not see one New-Years-day i… Then let old England make good ch… Windsor and Bristol then shall be
Pallas, observing Stella’s wit Was more than for her sex was fit, And that her beauty, soon or late, Might breed confusion in the state… In high concern for human kind,
Now hardly here and there a hackne… Appearing, show’d the ruddy morn’s… Now Betty from her master’s bed h… And softly stole to discompose her… The slip-shod 'prentice from his m…
Her dead lady’s joy and comfort, Who departed this life The last day of March, 1727: To the great joy of Bryan That his antagonist is gone.
LEST it may more quarrels breed, I will never hear you read. By disputing, I will never, To convince you once endeavour. III