As a thorn bush, or oaken bough, Stuck in an Irish cabin's brow, Above the door, at country fair, Betokens entertainment there; So bays on poets' brows have been Set, for a sign of wit within....
All human race would fain be wits, And millions miss for one that hits. Young's universal passion, pride,[1] Was never known to spread so wide. Say, Britain, could you ever boast...
At two afternoon for our Psyche inquire, Her tea-kettle's on, and her smock at the fire: So loitering, so active; so busy, so idle; Which has she most need of, a spur or a bridle?...
If there be truth in what you sing, Such godlike virtues in the king; A minister[1] so fill'd with zeal And wisdom for the commonweal; If he[2] who in the chair presides, So steadily the senate guides;...
The thresher Duck[1] could o'er the queen prevail, The proverb says, "no fence against a flail." From threshing corn he turns to thresh his brains; For which her majesty allows him grains:...
Because I am by nature blind, I wisely choose to walk behind; However, to avoid disgrace, I let no creature see my face. My words are few, but spoke with sense; And yet my speaking gives offence:...
I'm not the grandson of that ass Quin;[1] Nor can you prove it, Mr. Pasquin. My grandame had gallants by twenties, And bore my mother by a 'prentice. This when my grandsire knew, they tell us he...
The very reverend Dean Smedley, Of dulness, pride, conceit, a medley, Was equally allow'd to shine As poet, scholar, and divine; With godliness could well dispense, Would be a rake, but wanted sense;...
Illustrious prince, we're come before ye, Who, more than in our founders, glory To be by you protected; Deign to descend and give us laws, For we are converts to your cause,...
From Venus born, thy beauty shows; But who thy father, no man knows: Nor can the skilful herald trace The founder of thy ancient race; Whether thy temper, full of fire, Discovers Vulcan for thy sire,...
Desponding Phyllis was endu'd With ev'ry talent of a prude: She trembled when a man drew near; Salute her, and she turn'd her ear: If o'er against her you were placed,...
Some ancient authors wisely write, That he who drinks will wake at night, Will never fail to lose his rest, And feel a streightness in his chest; A streightness in a double sense,...
Great cry, and little wool - is now become The plague and proverb of the weaver's loom; No wool to work on, neither weft nor warp; Their pockets empty, and their stomachs sharp....
When first the squire and tinker Wood Gravely consulting Ireland's good, Together mingled in a mass Smith's dust, and copper, lead, and brass; The mixture thus by chemic art United close in ev'ry part,...