The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, Volumen40,Página 2


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Página 224 - Here shift the scene, to represent How those I love, my death lament. Poor Pope will grieve a month; and Gay A week ; and Arbuthnot a day. St John himself will scarce forbear, To bite his pen, and drop a tear. The rest will give a shrug and cry I'm sorry; but we all must die.
Página 266 - So geographers, in Afric maps, With savage pictures fill their gaps, And o'er unhabitable downs Place elephants for want of towns.
Página 242 - When beasts could speak, (the learned say They still can do so every day,) It seems, they had religion then, As much as now we find in men. It happen'd, when a plague broke out, (Which therefore made them more devout...
Página 51 - I'll see you all damn'd before I will whittle. My honest friend Wild, may he long hold his place, He lengthen'd my life with a whole year of grace.
Página 221 - To hear his out-of-fashion wit? But he takes up with younger folks, Who for his wine will bear his jokes. Faith, he must make his stories shorter...
Página 159 - Although it was plain in her heart she was glad, Cry'd, " Hussy, why sure the wench is gone mad ! How could these chimeras get into your brains ? — Come hither, and take this old gown for your pains: But the Dean, if this secret should come to his ears, Will never have done with his gibes and his jeers : For your life, not a word of the matter I charge ye : Give me but a barrack, a fig for the clergy.
Página 156 - Your ladyship lifts up the sash to be seen (For sure I had dizen'd you out like a queen). The captain, to show he is proud of the favour, Looks up to your window, and cocks up his beaver. (His beaver is cock'd ; pray, madam, mark that, For a captain of...
Página 232 - Had set a price upon his head : But not a traitor could be found, To sell him for six hundred pound. ' Had he but spared his tongue and pen, He might have rose like other men; But power was never in his thought, And wealth he valued not a groat.
Página 220 - See how the Dean begins to break! Poor gentleman, he droops apace! You plainly find it in his face. That old vertigo in his head Will never leave him, till he's dead. Besides, his memory decays: He recollects not what he says; He cannot call his friends to mind; Forgets the place where last he dined; Plies you with stories o'er and o'er; He told them fifty times before.
Página 273 - In bulk there are not more degrees, From elephants to mites in cheese, Than what a curious eye may trace In creatures of the rhyming race. From bad to worse, and worse, they fall ; But who can reach the...

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