The poetical works of Alexander Pope. With his last corrections, additions, and improvements. From the text of dr. Warburton. With the life of the author [by T. Cibber].1807 |
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... sense but found no bottom there , Yet wrote and flounder an in mere despair . Vide Dunciad VolBook Page 206 , line .. Printed for C.Cooke May 232807 . THE POETICAL WORKS OF ALEXANDER POPE , WITH HIS LAST. POPE'S POEMS .
... sense but found no bottom there , Yet wrote and flounder an in mere despair . Vide Dunciad VolBook Page 206 , line .. Printed for C.Cooke May 232807 . THE POETICAL WORKS OF ALEXANDER POPE , WITH HIS LAST. POPE'S POEMS .
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... sense ? Like gentle Fanny's was my flowery theme , A painted mistress , or a purling stream . Yet then did Gildon draw his venal quill ; I wish'd the man a dinner , and sat still ; Yet then did Dennis rave in furious fret ; I never ...
... sense ? Like gentle Fanny's was my flowery theme , A painted mistress , or a purling stream . Yet then did Gildon draw his venal quill ; I wish'd the man a dinner , and sat still ; Yet then did Dennis rave in furious fret ; I never ...
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... sense , now nonsense , leaning , Mcans not , but blunders round about a meaning ; And he whose fustian's so sublimely bad , It is not poetry , but prose run mad : 190 All these my modest Satire bade translate , And own'd that nine such ...
... sense , now nonsense , leaning , Mcans not , but blunders round about a meaning ; And he whose fustian's so sublimely bad , It is not poetry , but prose run mad : 190 All these my modest Satire bade translate , And own'd that nine such ...
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... sense , Or simple pride for flattery makes demands , May dunce by dunce be whistled off my hands ! Bless'd be the great ! for those they take away , 255 And those they left me - for they left me Gay : Left me to see neglected genius ...
... sense , Or simple pride for flattery makes demands , May dunce by dunce be whistled off my hands ! Bless'd be the great ! for those they take away , 255 And those they left me - for they left me Gay : Left me to see neglected genius ...
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... sense of it without the love ; Who has the vanity to call you friend , Yet wants the honour , injur'd , to defend ; Who tells whate'er you think , whate'er you say , And , if he lie not , must at least betray ; Who to the dean and ...
... sense of it without the love ; Who has the vanity to call you friend , Yet wants the honour , injur'd , to defend ; Who tells whate'er you think , whate'er you say , And , if he lie not , must at least betray ; Who to the dean and ...
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abuse ancient bard Bavius Behold Bless'd Charles Gildon charms Cibber court critics Curl dear Dennis divine dull Dulness dunce Dunciad Epistle Eridanus Essay Essay on Criticism ev'n eyes fame fate flame fool genius gentle Gildon glory goddess grace grave hath head hear heart Heav'n hero Homer honour Horace Iliad IMITATIONS James Moore JOHN DENNIS John Ozell Journal king knave laws learned Leonard Welsted Letter LEWIS THEOBALD live lord lov'd Matthew Concanen moral Muse ne'er never numbers o'er octavo once person pleas'd poem poet poet's poetry Pope Pope's pow'r praise pray'r printed proud queen rage REMARKS rhyme rise round sacred satire shew shine sighs sing Smil soft song soul Swift tears thee thine thing thou thought town truth verse Virgil virtue Whig wings word writ write youth
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Страница 14 - Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys: So well-bred spaniels civilly delight In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way. Whether in florid impotence he speaks, And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks; Or at the ear of Eve, familiar toad, Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad, 320 In puns, or politics, or tales, or lies, Or spite, or smut, or rhymes,...
Страница 11 - Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, And hate for arts that caused himself to rise ; Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer...
Страница 107 - Statesman \ yet friend to Truth! of soul sincere, ' In action faithful, and in honour clear ; 'Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end, 'Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend ; 'Ennobled by himself, by all approv'd, 'And prais'd, unenvy'd, by the Muse he lov'd.
Страница 11 - Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged, And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged; Like Cato, give his little senate laws, And sit attentive to his own applause; While wits and Templars every sentence raise, And wonder with a foolish face of praise — Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he? What though my name stood rubric on the walls, Or plaster'd posts, with claps, in capitals? Or smoking forth, a hundred hawkers load, On wings of winds came flying...
Страница 118 - I weep my past offence, Now think of thee, and curse my innocence. Of all affliction taught a lover yet, 'Tis sure the hardest science to forget? How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense. And love th
Страница 90 - A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire. Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years, slide soft away In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day.
Страница 6 - Sabbath-day to me: Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme, Happy! to catch me just at Dinner-time.
Страница 123 - As into air the purer spirits flow, 25 And sep'rate from their kindred dregs below; So flew the soul to its congenial place, Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.
Страница 10 - Pretty! in amber to observe the forms Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! 170 The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they got there?
Страница 116 - With other beauties charm my partial eyes, Full in my view set all the bright abode, And make my soul quit Abelard for God. Ah think at least thy flock deserves thy care, Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r.