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] |
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TO MYRA, On her BIRTH-DAY.
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 | The Shamrock |  |
TO MYRA, On her BIRTH-DAY.
When
Flavius did his Love impart,
And pour th'O'erflowings of his Heart;
When you accounted it no Shame,
To own you felt a mutual Flame;
Say, Myra, knew you at the Time,
That this same Flavius dealt in Rhyme?
And pour th'O'erflowings of his Heart;
When you accounted it no Shame,
To own you felt a mutual Flame;
Say, Myra, knew you at the Time,
That this same Flavius dealt in Rhyme?
Had you selected from the Croud
Of Lovers, at your Feet that bow'd,
Some Beau, content—like vulgar Beaux—
To speak his Mind in humble Prose,
Year after Year, unmark'd, might fly;
Your Birth-Day pass, unheeded, by;
And Wrinkles gather on your Front;
Yet Half the Town know Nothing on't:
But, let an ill-starr'd Female chuse
Some curs'd Retainer of the Muse,
Though her smooth Brow and youthful Mien,
At thirty, pass her for eighteen,
Still, by his busy, meddling Tongue,
Her Age must every Year be sung;
And, soon as comes her Birth-Day Morning,
A Song is sure to give her Warning;
Because, forsooth, that rude old Fellow,
The Dean, had done the same by Stella.
Of Lovers, at your Feet that bow'd,
Some Beau, content—like vulgar Beaux—
To speak his Mind in humble Prose,
Year after Year, unmark'd, might fly;
Your Birth-Day pass, unheeded, by;
And Wrinkles gather on your Front;
Yet Half the Town know Nothing on't:
83
Some curs'd Retainer of the Muse,
Though her smooth Brow and youthful Mien,
At thirty, pass her for eighteen,
Still, by his busy, meddling Tongue,
Her Age must every Year be sung;
And, soon as comes her Birth-Day Morning,
A Song is sure to give her Warning;
Because, forsooth, that rude old Fellow,
The Dean, had done the same by Stella.
Like other Brethren of the Trade,
By me this Service must be paid.
This Day, the Nymph, in her Career,
Has reach'd her five-and-twentieth Year:
But, did the happy Poet please,
By her fair Deeds to count her Days;
By Duties, which the pious Maid,
To ease a dying Father, paid;
By Services, which recommend
Her Worth to Husband, Sister, Friend;
Compar'd with all the Pert, and Gay,
Who while the idle Year away,
And one unvarying Round pursue
Of Opera, Play, Assembly, Loo,
With forty thousand Trifles more—
This Day, the Nymph would be fourscore.
By me this Service must be paid.
This Day, the Nymph, in her Career,
Has reach'd her five-and-twentieth Year:
But, did the happy Poet please,
By her fair Deeds to count her Days;
By Duties, which the pious Maid,
To ease a dying Father, paid;
By Services, which recommend
Her Worth to Husband, Sister, Friend;
Compar'd with all the Pert, and Gay,
Who while the idle Year away,
And one unvarying Round pursue
Of Opera, Play, Assembly, Loo,
With forty thousand Trifles more—
This Day, the Nymph would be fourscore.
| The Shamrock | |