Satires and EpistlesClarendon Press, 1872 - 164 Seiten |
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Seite 22
... round Pope's poems a mass of biographical anecdote such as sur- rounds the writings of no other English author . The student of our literature will find that his enjoyment of the wit of the Satires and Epistles is increased exactly in ...
... round Pope's poems a mass of biographical anecdote such as sur- rounds the writings of no other English author . The student of our literature will find that his enjoyment of the wit of the Satires and Epistles is increased exactly in ...
Seite 24
... round the land . What walls can guard me , or what shades can hide ? They pierce my thickets , thro ' my grot they glide , By land , by water , they renew the charge , They stop the chariot , and they board the barge . IO No place is ...
... round the land . What walls can guard me , or what shades can hide ? They pierce my thickets , thro ' my grot they glide , By land , by water , they renew the charge , They stop the chariot , and they board the barge . IO No place is ...
Seite 26
... round thee break , Thou unconcern'd canst hear the mighty crack : Pit , box , and gall'ry in convulsions hurl'd , Thou stand'st unshook amidst a bursting world . Who shames a scribler ? break one cobweb thro ' , He spins the slight ...
... round thee break , Thou unconcern'd canst hear the mighty crack : Pit , box , and gall'ry in convulsions hurl'd , Thou stand'st unshook amidst a bursting world . Who shames a scribler ? break one cobweb thro ' , He spins the slight ...
Seite 29
... round about a meaning : And he , whose fustian's so sublimely bad , It is not poetry , but prose run mad : All these , my modest Satire bad translate , And own'd that nine such poets made a Tate . 190 How did they fume , and stamp , and ...
... round about a meaning : And he , whose fustian's so sublimely bad , It is not poetry , but prose run mad : All these , my modest Satire bad translate , And own'd that nine such poets made a Tate . 190 How did they fume , and stamp , and ...
Seite 38
... round his falling horse ? F. Then all your muse's softer art display , Let Carolina smooth the tuneful lay , Lull with Amelia's liquid name the Nine , And sweetly flow thro ' all the royal line . P. Alas ! few verses touch their nicer ...
... round his falling horse ? F. Then all your muse's softer art display , Let Carolina smooth the tuneful lay , Lull with Amelia's liquid name the Nine , And sweetly flow thro ' all the royal line . P. Alas ! few verses touch their nicer ...
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Beliebte Passagen
Seite 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...
Seite 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.
Seite 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...
Seite 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.
Seite 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.
Seite 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?
Seite 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.
Seite 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.
Seite 28 - Commas and points they set exactly right, And 'twere a sin to rob them of their mite.
Seite 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.