 | The Harp of Erin |  |
82
EPIGRAMS.
THE PRETTY VIXEN.
When foam'd the dashing waves, and winds were high,From ocean surely, Venus-like, you sprung;
For I can bear the lightning of your eye,
But who can bear the thunder of your tongue?
ANOTHER, TO THE SAME.
With angel face, and faultless form,How strange that you're not to my liking!
Yet, when you cuff your spouse, and storm,
I own your beauty vastly striking.
AN IMITATION OF MARTIAL.
My patron lives next street; but, for assistance,We might as well live fourscore miles at distance.
| The Harp of Erin | |