University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
The Shamrock

or, Hibernian Cresses. A Collection of Poems, Songs, Epigrams, &c. Latin as well as English, The Original Production of Ireland. To which are subjoined thoughts on the prevailing system of school education, respecting young ladies as well as gentlemen: with practical proposals for a reformation [by Samuel Whyte]

collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 I. 
collapse sectionII. 
  
  
 III. 
 IV. 
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
  
  
collapse section 
  
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
AN INVITATION. TO DR. JUSTAMOND.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
  
  
  

AN INVITATION. TO DR. JUSTAMOND.

Come, Justamond, partake with me,
In humble Solitude,
Joys, which, though homely, you'll agree,
Are rational, and good.
A Cup of nut-brown Ale I have got,
A Piece of marbled Beef;
And Happiness, which loves my Cot,
Shall give your Cares Relief;

361

If Cares can dwell within a Breast,
Where Peace should ever reign,
If it be true, as some attest,
That Vice alone gives Pain:
Then, Vice, I'm sure, can never find
A Place within your Heart,
Where all is generous, all is kind,
All social, all sans Art.
Yet, think not that the jolly Bowl,
Is from my Table fled;
I'll, likewise, sometimes add a Fowl,
And Pork, the best, home-fed.
Then, I will laugh, as heretofore;
And you, my Friend, shall sing;
My Wife, and Boys shall cry encore;
The Room with Mirth shall ring;
Not such as shakes pale Slander's Side,
While meagre Envy smiles;
Nor what distorts the Face of Pride,
Or gives to Art fresh Wiles:
For, these delight not you, and me;
Because full well we know,
It is impossible to see
A perfect Man below:
And, why should we so lose the Time
We might much better spend;
As I do now in harmless Rhyme,
Address'd to you, my Friend—

362

Why should we lose that Time, I say,
In Scandal, Noise, and Strife,
And not pursue the noblest Way
Along the Vale of Life?—
To scorn the Worthless; praise the Good;
Assist the wretched Poor;—
Pitying the Frail—for Fear we should
E'er want that Pity more!