Pope. Satires and Epistles, ed. by M. Pattison1872 |
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Addison allusion Arbuthnot authors Balliol College Bishop Blackmore Boileau Bolingbroke Book Budgel Carruthers character Church Cibber Clarendon Press Series cloth College court died Dindorfii Dryden Duke Dunciad Edward Wortley Montagu England English Essay Eton College ev'n ev'ry Extra fcap fame fcap fools formerly Fellow genius George grace Greek heav'n History honour Imitation of Horace John Johnson King knave language laugh libeller Lincoln College literature live London Lord Bolingbroke Lord Fanny Lord Hervey lov'd muse ne'er never noble numbers Oriel College Oxford Pindaric pleas'd poems poet poetry Pope pow'r praise Prince Professor Prol Queen reign rhyme Roman Satires and Epistles satirist Sir Robert soul Spence Swift taste thou thought thro translation truth University of Oxford verse vice virtue W. F. Donkin W. W. Skeat Walpole Warburton's Warton Whig write
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Страница 30 - Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer ; Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike...
Страница 33 - 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.
Страница 30 - 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...
Страница 52 - Who counsels best ? who whispers, ' Be but great, With praise or infamy leave that to fate; Get place and wealth, if possible, with grace ; If not, by any means get wealth and place.
Страница 145 - I remember the players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never blotted out a line. My answer hath been, "Would he ' had blotted a thousand," which they thought a malevolent speech.
Страница 27 - Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed, 'Just so immortal Maro held his head'; And, when I die, be sure you let me know Great Homer died three thousand years ago. Why did I write? what sin to me unknown Dipp'd me in ink, my parents', or my own?
Страница 144 - whispers through the trees": If crystal streams "with pleasing murmurs creep," The reader's threaten'd (not in vain) with "sleep": Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.
Страница 29 - Pretty! in amber to observe the forms Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they got there.
Страница 28 - Commas and points they set exactly right, And 'twere a sin to rob them of their mite.
Страница 64 - Who now reads Cowley ? if he pleases yet, His moral pleases, not his pointed wit ; Forgot his epic, nay Pindaric art, But still I love the language of his heart.