The Poetical Works of Alexander Pope, Esq., to which is Prefixed the Life of the Author, Band 2 |
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Being divided between the necessity to say something of myself , and my own
lazi . ness to undertake so awkward a task , I thought it the shortest way to put the
last hand to this Epistle . If it have any thing pleasing , it will be that by which I am
...
Being divided between the necessity to say something of myself , and my own
lazi . ness to undertake so awkward a task , I thought it the shortest way to put the
last hand to this Epistle . If it have any thing pleasing , it will be that by which I am
...
Seite 7
... Rhymes ere he wakes , and prints before term ends , Obliged by hunger and
request of friends : • The piece , you think , is incorrect : why take it ; I'm all
submission ; what you'd have it make it . ' Three things another's modest wishes
bound ...
... Rhymes ere he wakes , and prints before term ends , Obliged by hunger and
request of friends : • The piece , you think , is incorrect : why take it ; I'm all
submission ; what you'd have it make it . ' Three things another's modest wishes
bound ...
Seite 8
A. Good friend , forbear ! you deal in dangerous things , I'd never name queens ,
ministers , or kings ; Keep close to ears , and those let asses prick , " Tis nothing -
P . Nothing ? if they bite and kick ? Out with it , Dunciad ! let the secret pass ...
A. Good friend , forbear ! you deal in dangerous things , I'd never name queens ,
ministers , or kings ; Keep close to ears , and those let asses prick , " Tis nothing -
P . Nothing ? if they bite and kick ? Out with it , Dunciad ! let the secret pass ...
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The things we know are neither rich nor rare , But wonder how the devil they got
there . Were others angry ? I excused them too ;. Weh might they rage : I gave
them but their due . A man's true merit ' tis not hard to find ; But each man's secret
...
The things we know are neither rich nor rare , But wonder how the devil they got
there . Were others angry ? I excused them too ;. Weh might they rage : I gave
them but their due . A man's true merit ' tis not hard to find ; But each man's secret
...
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Let Sporus tremble — A . What ? that thing of silk , Sporus , that mere white curd
of ass's milk ? Satire or sense , alas ! can Sporus feel ? Who breaks a butterfly
upon a wheel ? P. Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings , This painted child of
...
Let Sporus tremble — A . What ? that thing of silk , Sporus , that mere white curd
of ass's milk ? Satire or sense , alas ! can Sporus feel ? Who breaks a butterfly
upon a wheel ? P. Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings , This painted child of
...
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Beliebte Passagen
Seite 4 - And curses wit, and poetry, and Pope. Friend to my life! (which did not you prolong, The world had wanted many an idle song) What drop or nostrum can this plague remove? Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love? A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped. If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead.
Seite 9 - 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...
Seite 8 - Soft were my numbers ; who could take offence While pure description held the place of sense ? Like gentle Fanny's was my flowery theme, A painted mistress, or a purling stream.
Seite 129 - A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate, Whom Heaven kept sacred from the Proud and Great : Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease, Content with science in the vale of peace. Calmly he look'd on either life ; and here Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear ; From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfied, Thank'd Heaven that he had liv'd, and that he died.
Seite 5 - A virgin tragedy, an orphan muse.' If I dislike it, 'Furies, death and rage !' If I approve, 'Commend it to the stage.
Seite 304 - In vain! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die. Religion blushing veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires. Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word; Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall, And universal Darkness buries all.
Seite 4 - I said; Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. The Dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt, All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out: Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, They rave, recite, and madden round the land.
Seite 9 - Peace to all such ! but were there one whose fires True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; Blest with each talent and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live with ease : Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne...
Seite 303 - Before her Fancy's gilded clouds decay, And all its varying rainbows die away. Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. As one by one, at dread Medea's strain, The sick'ning stars fade off th' ethereal plain ; As Argus
Seite 12 - 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.