Irish writer of novels and poetry and plays and essays (1728-1774)

(1 vote)

Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no fibs.
Don't let us make imaginary evils, when you know we have so many real ones to encounter.
Hope, like the gleaming taper's light, Adorns and cheers our way And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.
Ill fares the land, to hast'ning ill a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay Princes and Lords may flourish, or may fade A breath can make them, as a breath has made but a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed can never be supplied.
The dancing pair that simply sought renown,By holding out to tire each other downThe swain mistrustless of his smutted face,While secret laughter titter'd round the placeThe bashful virgin's side-long looks of love,The matrons glance that would those looks reproveThese were thy charms, sweet village sports like these,With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to pleaseThese were thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,These were thy charms -- but all these charms are fled.

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