The works of Peter Pindar, Том 21797 |
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agen amidſt Bard Becauſe Behold beſt bleft call'd charms cry'd curfe Dame dear ears EMP'ROR ev'ry eyes facred faid fair fame fatire fave fcorn feem fhall fhould fhow figh filk fimple fing firſt fleep fmile folemn fome fong foon form'd foul fpirit ftare fubjects fublime fuch fweet giv'n grace Grand Directors head heart Heav'n himſelf honour houſe hyæna JOHN NICHOLS JONAS DRYANDER Juft KIEN LONG kifs King Lord LORD MACARTNEY Mafter Majefty midft mighty moft Monarch moſt mouth Mufe muft muſt night nofe o'er PETER PINDAR PITT pleas'd pleaſe Poet poor pow'r praife praiſe prefent pretty profe Queen rhymes royal Saint Albans ſee ſeen ſhall Sir JOSEPH ſmile ſtare ſtate ſweet thee theſe thine things thofe thoſe thou thouſand Verger verſe ween Whilft Whofe Whoſe wife wild wiſh wonder Zounds
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Страница 110 - And think that risibility was giv'n For human happiness, by gracious Heav'n, And that we came not into life to cry : To wear long faces, just as if our Maker, The God of Goodness, was an undertaker, Well pleas'd to wrap the soul's unlucky mien In sorrow's dismal crape, or bombasine.
Страница 222 - Roses shall smooth life's journey, and adorn ; Yet mind me — if, through want of grace, Thou mean'st to fling the blessing in my face, Thou hast full leave to tread upon a thorn.
Страница 392 - When prudence mounts their backs to ride them mild, They fling, they snort, they foam, they rise inflamed.
Страница 112 - Got a good handfome beakfull by good pulling, And flew, without a " Thank ye," to his thorn, The Pig fet up a difmal yelling...
Страница 162 - ... t is a shame, — Nothing their thoughtless, wild career can tame, Till penury stares them in the face ; And when they find an empty purse, Grown calmer, wiser, how the fault they curse, And, limping, look with such a sneaking grace! Job's war-horse fierce, his neck with thunder hung, Sunk to an humble hack that carries dung.
Страница 318 - Would not much like to dangle with wry faces. " But mum, my Lords— mum, mum, my Lords— mum, " mum:
Страница 192 - Crowd with fair columns, ftruck by TIME, thy page. And fnatch the falling grandeur from his rage : Give that old TIME a vomit too, and draw, More of Egyptian marvels from his maw ; Bid him difgorge (by moderns call'da hum) Scratch'd by ten thoufand trav'lers, Memnon's bum ; And, what all rarities muft needs furpafs, The tail, the curious tail of Balaam's afs.
Страница 408 - ... beneath thy beam, I own I labour for the voice of praife — For who would fink in dull OBLIVION'S ftream?
Страница 160 - ODE. THAT I have often been in love, deep love, A hundred doleful ditties plainly prove. By marriage never have I been disjointed; .For matrimony deals prodigious blows : Aud yet for this same stormy state, God knows, I've groan'd— and, thank my stars, been disappointed.
Страница 408 - Now blacken'd, and now flashing through her skies. But all is silence here: beneath thy beam, I own I labour for the voice of praise ; For who would sink in dull Oblivion's stream?