...And strains, from hard-bound brains, eight lines a-year ; He, who still wanting, though he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing...translate, And own'd that nine such poets made a Tate. 190 NOTES. Ver. ISO. a Persian tale] Amb. Philips translated a book called the Persian Tales. Pope....

...[year; And strains from hard-bound brains, eight lines a He, who, still wanting, though he lives on , Lovely Amoret! is thine ; Sacharisea's bad translate. And own'd that nine such poets made a Tate. How did they fume, and stamp, and ronr,...

...appear, And strains from hard-bound brains, eight lines a-year; He, who still wanting, tho' he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing...poetry, but prose run mad : All these, my modest satire bad translate, And own'd that nine such poets made a Tate. How did they fume, and stamp, and roar,...

...appear, And strains from hard-bound brains eight lines a year; He who still wanting, though he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing...sense, now nonsense leaning, Means not, but blunders roand about a meaning ; And he whose fustian's so sublimely bad, It is not poetry, but prose run mad...

...appear, [year ; And strains from hard-bound brains eight lines a He who still wanting, though he lives ou theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing...but blunders round about a meaning ; And he whose fustian 's so sublimely bad, It is not poetry, but prose run mad : All these my modest satire bade...

...from hard-bound brains eight lines а He, who, still wanting, though he lives on tMi, Steals mueh, e thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure,...of morn. Alas, regardless of their doom, The little fus(iau's so sublimely bad, It is not poetry, but prose run mad : All these, my modest satire bade...

...lines a-ye&r: He who, still wanting, though he lives on theft, Steals much, spende little, yet паe nothing left: And he, who, now to sense, now nonsense...but blunders round about a meaning : And he, whose fustian 'sso sublimely bad, It is not poetry, but prose run mad : All these, my modest satire bade...

...appear, And strains from hard-bound brains eight lines a ycnri rle who, still wanting, though he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing...meaning ; And he, whose fustian's so sublimely bad, [t is not poetry, but prose run mad : All these, my modest satire bade translate, And own'd that nine...

...intelligible. But they, poor souls, went a more awkward way to work ; they were like the man, — — Who now to sense, now nonsense leaning, Means not, but blunders round about a meaning. They thought it best to declare that the body of Christ is given, taken, and eaten, in the supper,...

...confound» all these together ; and whatever proves one, he thinks proves all the rest. Stillingfleet. He who now to sense, now nonsense leaning, Means not, but blunders round about a meaning. Pope. Another sort of judges will decide in favour of an author, or will pronounce him a mere blunderer,...