The works of the poets of Great Britain and Ireland. With prefaces, biographical and critical, by S. Johnson, Том 5

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Страница 415 - In Pope I cannot read a line But, with a sigh, I wish it mine : When he can in one couplet fix More sense than I can do in six, It gives me such a jealous fit, I cry, "Pox take him and his wit.
Страница 417 - 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.
Страница 417 - Must undergo the common fate; His kind of wit is out of date.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.
Страница 285 - I'll do my best Then presently he falls to tease: 60 'You may for certain, if you please; I doubt not, if his Lordship knew And Mr Dean, one word from you...
Страница 419 - Vow'd on the Dean his rage to vent, And make him of his zeal repent : But Heaven his innocence defends, The grateful people stand his friends ; Not strains of law, nor judges...
Страница 416 - And had the Dean, in all the nation, No worthy friend, no poor relation ? So ready to do strangers good, Forgetting his own flesh and blood...
Страница 501 - Know God — and bring thy heart to know The joys which from religion flow : Then every grace shall prove its guest, And I'll be there to crown the rest.
Страница 417 - I'm sorry; but we all must die. Indifference clad in Wisdom's Guise, All Fortitude of Mind supplies: For how can stony Bowels melt, In those who never Pity felt; When We are lash'd, They kiss the Rod; Resigning to the Will of God.
Страница 235 - Far be the guilt of home-shed blood, from all On whom, unsought, embroiling dangers fall ! Still the- pale dead revives, and lives to me, To me ! through Pity's eye condemn'd to see. Remembrance veils his rage, but swells his fate ; Griev'd I forgive, and am grown cool too late; Young and unthoughtful then, who knows one day What ripening virtues might have made their way!
Страница 502 - Is more than hospitably good. Then, led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down. At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day Along the wide canals the zephyrs play ; Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep.

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