Fables, Том 2

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J. and P. Knapton, 1751

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Страница 148 - Dares man upon himself confide? The wretch who glories in his gain, Amasses heaps on heaps in vain. Why lose we life in anxious cares, To lay in hoards for future years? Can those (when tortured by disease) Cheer our sick heart, or purchase ease? Can those prolong one gasp of breath, Or calm the troubled hour of death?
Страница 6 - Did I e'er make her poultry thinner? Prove that I owe the dame a dinner.
Страница 2 - Tis drawn; and, to augment the cost, In dull prolixity engrossed. And now we're well secured by law, Till the next brother find a flaw. Read o'er a will. Was't ever known, But you could make the will your own; For when you read,'tis with intent To find out meanings never meant. Since things are thus, se defendendo, I bar fallacious innuendo.
Страница 6 - This sneer From you I little thought to hear...
Страница 72 - Some the swift-sliding shuttle throw; Some, studious of the wind and tide, From pole to pole, our commerce guide; Some (taught by industry) impart With hands and feet, the works of art; While some, of genius more...
Страница 132 - Expofe your folly with themfelves. 'Tis yours, as 'tis the parent's care, To fix each genius in its fphere. Your partial hand can wealth difpenfe, But never give a blockhead fenfe.
Страница 98 - Thus did your fires adorn their feat ; And fuch alone are truly great. If you the paths of learning flight, You're but a dunce in ftronger light : In formoft rank, the coward, plac'd, Is more confpicuoufly difgrac'd.
Страница 4 - Brutes are my theme. Am I to blame If men in morals are the same ? I no man call or ape, or ass — Tis his own conscience holds the glass. Thus, void of all offence, I write : Who claims the fable, knows his right.
Страница 91 - I for the moral's fake relate. A Bee, of cunning, not of parts, Luxurious, negligent of arts, Rapacious, arrogant, and vain, Greedy of pow'r, but more of gain, Corruption fow'd throughout the hive.
Страница 101 - s my lot ! Is then my high defcent forgot ? Reduc'd to drudg'ry and difgrace, (A life unworthy of my race) Muft I too bear the vile attacks Of ragged fcrubs and vulgar hacks ? See fcurvy Roan, that brute ill-bred, Dares from the manger thruft my head ! Shall I, who boaft a noble line, On offals of thefe creatures dine ? Kick'd by old Ball ! fo mean a foe ! My honour fuffers by the blow.

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