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An Apology To The Earl Of Orrery

Rating: 2.6

Not Persia's Monarch could, unmov'd, survey
Those num'rous Hosts, which Time must sweep away:
He wept Misfortunes of a distant Date;
I mourn the Rigour of my instant Fate:
The dreaded Hour approaching fast I see,
When you, alas! will all be dead to me.
Then cease to wonder, if my Bosom rise,
And Tears, unbidden, rush into my Eyes;
'Tis thus, and only thus, a grateful Breast
Pours out those Thanks, which cannot be express'd:

For, O Hibernia! when I quit thy Coast,
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7/26/2021 1:30:05 PM # 1.0.0.664