English poem
To Lord TYRAWLY, on his sending me to Lori CHESTERFIELD, when I durst not knock at the Door
Rejoic'd, I went, of speeding sure, My Lord! at your Command: I boldly stood at STANHOPE'S Door, And stoutly stretch'd my Hand.
The sounding Brass I rashly rais'd, Resolv'd my Hopes to crown; Some Pow'r unseen my Senses seiz'd; I laid it silent down.
The Knocker thus I thrice upheld, And thrice I made Essay: For your Command my Arm impell'd, And I would fain obey.
But Fate fotbid th' intruding Sound, Which would his Ears assail: By Greatness aw'd and Worth renown'd, Hibernian Front must fail.
More by Sir Jones Henry
- To a young LADY, who had made an Epigram on TIME, but refus'd to give a Copy
- To CLEON, on his Arrival at his Villa
- To CLOE
- To Doctor GREEN
- To Mr. Stanly Apothecary
- To the Hon. Mr. Baron MOUNTNEY
- To the Hon. Mrs. CONOLLY
- To the Reverend Dr. Mann, occasioned by the Author's asking him for a Subject to write on, and his saying he…