The Age of PopeG. Bell, 1896 - 258 страници |
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Страница 155
... He hardly drinks a pint of wine , And that I doubt is no good sign . His stomach too begins to fail , Last year we thought him strong and hale , But now he's quite another thing , I wish he may hold out till Spring . ' No enemy can ...
... He hardly drinks a pint of wine , And that I doubt is no good sign . His stomach too begins to fail , Last year we thought him strong and hale , But now he's quite another thing , I wish he may hold out till Spring . ' No enemy can ...
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Aaron Hill Addison admiration Ambrose Philips appeared Arbuthnot argument Atterbury beauty Beggar's Opera Berkeley Bishop blank verse Bolingbroke born called century character charm Cibber Colley Cibber couplet criticism death Defoe Defoe's Deist delight died dramatic Dunciad edition England English Epistle Essay eyes fame famous followed gained Gay's genius holy orders honour Horace Horace Walpole humour Iliad imagination John Johnson judgment King labour Lady language later letters literary literature lived London Lord merit mind moral nature never observes passion philosopher Pindaric play poem poet poet's poetical poetry political Pope Pope's praise Prior prose published Queen Anne reader regarded satire says Scriblerus Club sense song Spectator spirit Steele Stella style Swift Tatler things Thomson thought tion tragedy Twickenham virtue volume Walpole Warburton Whig William William Law women writes written wrote Young
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Страница 110 - I hear a voice, you cannot hear, Which says, I must not stay ; I see a hand, you cannot see, Which beckons me away.
Страница 89 - The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; And let me catch it, as I muse along. Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound; Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound His stupendous praise ; whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, In mingled clouds to Him ; whose sun exalts,...
Страница 45 - There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl The feast of reason and the flow of soul...
Страница 82 - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man ! How passing wonder He who made him such ! Who centered in our make such strange extremes.
Страница 220 - Sir, he was a scoundrel, and a coward : a scoundrel for charging a blunderbuss against religion and morality ; a coward, because he had not resolution to fire it off himself, but left half a crown to a beggarly Scotchman to draw the trigger after his death...
Страница 117 - Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome — at an inn.
Страница 148 - She was a very beautiful woman, of a noble spirit, and there was a dignity in her grief amidst all the wildness of her transport which, methought, struck me with an instinct of sorrow, that, before I was sensible of what it was to grieve, seized my very soul, and has made pity the weakness of my heart ever since.
Страница 32 - Oft she rejects, but never once offends. Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike, And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride...
Страница 82 - An heir of glory! a frail child of dust! Helpless immortal! insect infinite! A worm! — a god! — I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost!
Страница 82 - A worm ! a god ! I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost. At home a stranger, Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast. And wondering at her own. How reason reels . O, what a miracle to man is man ! Triumphantly distressed!