Like mine, thy gentle numbers feebly creep ; Thy Tragic Muse gives smiles ; thy Comic, sleep. With whate'er gall thou sett'st thyself to write, Thy inoffensive satires never bite. In thy felonious heart though venom lies, It does but touch thy Irish pen,...
The Works of John Dryden: Now First Collected ... - Page 440
by John Dryden, Walter Scott - 1808
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