The Select Works of Jonathan Swift: Containing the Whole of His Poetical Works, the Tale of a Tab, Battle of the Books, Gulliver's Travels, Directions to Servants, Art of Punning, Etc, Volumen4

Hector McLean, 1823

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Página 314 - tis hardly understood Which way my death can do them good, Yet thus, methinks, I hear them speak: ' 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 323 - Without regarding private ends, Spent all his credit for his friends ; And only chose the wise and good ; No flatterers ; no allies in blood : But succour'd virtue in distress, And seldom fail'd of good success; As numbers in their hearts must own, Who, but for him, had been unknown.* " With princes kept a due decorum, But never stood in awe before 'em. He follow'd David's lesson just ; In princes never put thy trust : And would you make him truly sour, Provoke him with a slave in power.
Página 313 - em? To all my foes, dear Fortune, send Thy gifts; but never to my friend: I tamely can endure the first; But this with envy makes me burst.
Página 316 - Lady Suffolk, in the spleen, Runs laughing up to tell the queen. The queen, so gracious, mild, and good, Cries, " Is he gone ? 'tis time he should.
Página 79 - This said, she plucks in heaven's high bowers A sprig of amaranthine flowers. In nectar thrice infuses bays, Three times refin'd in Titan's rays; Then calls the Graces to her aid, And sprinkles thrice the new-born maid: From whence the tender skin assumes A sweetness above all perfumes: From whence a cleanliness remains, Incapable of outward stains: From whence that decency of mind So lovely in the female kind, Where not one careless thought intrudes, Less modest than the speech of prudes; Where...
Página 45 - Wife, I never took one in Your Coat for a Conjurer in all my Life. With that, he twisted his Girdle at me like a Rope, as who should say, Now you may go hang your self for me, and so went away.
Página 65 - Betty from her master's bed had flown, And softly stole to discompose her own ; The slip-shod 'prentice from his master's door Had pared the dirt, and sprinkled round the floor.
Página 317 - 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 319 - Must undergo the common fate; His kind of wit is out of date. Some country squire to Lintot goes, Inquires for "Swift in Verse and Prose." Says Lintot, "I have heard the name; He died a year ago."— "The same.
Página 142 - Enamell'd fields and verdant trees : With eager haste he longs to rove In that fantastic scene, and thinks It must be some enchanted grove; And in he leaps, and down he sinks.

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