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admire atque Author bear beauty better Character Court divine equal ev'n ev'ry eyes fall fame father fatire fear fhall fhould fome fool force foul ftill fuch Genius give Gold grace grave half head hear heart himſelf honour Horace hurt imitation juft keep King land laugh Laws learned live look Lord mean mind moral muſt Nature never NOTES o'er once Original painted pleaſe Poet poor praiſe quae Queen quid quod rich ridicule rules Satire tell Thefe theſe thing thofe thoſe thought thro tibi town true truth turn verfe verſe Vice Virtue whofe whole wife writ write
Seite 18 - Who but must laugh if such a man there be ? Who would not weep if Atticus were he?
Seite 51 - Hear this, and tremble ! you who 'scape the laws. Yes, while I live, no rich or noble knave Shall walk the world, in credit, to his grave.
Seite 243 - Before her dance; behind her crawl the Old! See thronging Millions to the Pagod run, And offer Country, Parent, Wife, or Son! Hear her black Trumpet thro' the Land proclaim, That "Not to be corrupted is the Shame.
Seite 19 - d by ev'ry quill ; Fed with soft dedication all day long, Horace and he went hand in hand in song.
Seite 234 - Seen him, uncumber'd with the Venal tribe, Smile without Art, and win without a Bribe. Would he oblige me ? let me only find, He does not think me what he thinks mankind.
Seite 6 - They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide, By land, by water, they renew the charge, They stop the chariot, and they board the barge.
Seite 30 - Bestia's from the throne. Born to no pride, inheriting no strife, Nor marrying discord in a noble wife, Stranger to civil and religious rage, The good man walk'd innoxious through his age. No courts he saw, no suits would ever try, Nor dar'd an oath, nor hazarded a lie.
Seite 244 - Are what ten thousand envy and adore : All, all look up with reverential awe, At crimes that 'scape or triumph o'er the law ; While truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decry : Nothing is sacred now but villainy.
Seite 157 - Besides, a fate attends on all I write, That when I aim at praise they say I bite. A vile encomium doubly ridicules : There's nothing blackens like the ink of fools. If true, a woful likeness ; and, if lies, ' Praise undeserv'd is scandal in disguise.