The Poetical Works of Alexander Pope, Esq., to which is Prefixed the Life of the Author, Band 2 |
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Seite 41
To Gammer Gurton if it give the bays , And yet deny the Careless Husband praise
, Or say our fathers never broke a rule ; Why then , I say , the public is a fool . But
let them own , that greater faults than we They had , and greater virtues , I'll ...
To Gammer Gurton if it give the bays , And yet deny the Careless Husband praise
, Or say our fathers never broke a rule ; Why then , I say , the public is a fool . But
let them own , that greater faults than we They had , and greater virtues , I'll ...
Seite 44
What's long or short , each accent where to place , And speak in public with some
sort of grace ? I scarce can think him such a worthless thing , Unless he praise
some monster for a king : . Or virtue , or religion turn to sport , To please a lewd or
...
What's long or short , each accent where to place , And speak in public with some
sort of grace ? I scarce can think him such a worthless thing , Unless he praise
some monster for a king : . Or virtue , or religion turn to sport , To please a lewd or
...
Seite 46
O you ! whom vanity's light bark conveys On fame's mad voyage by the wind of
praise , With what a shifting gale your course you ply , For ever sunk too low , or
borne too high ; Who pants for glory finds but short repose ; A breath revives him
...
O you ! whom vanity's light bark conveys On fame's mad voyage by the wind of
praise , With what a shifting gale your course you ply , For ever sunk too low , or
borne too high ; Who pants for glory finds but short repose ; A breath revives him
...
Seite 47
Yet , lest you think I rally more than teach , Or praise malignly arts I cannot reach ,
Let me for once presume to instruct the times To know the poet from the man of
rhymes : ' Tis he who gives my breast a thousand pains , Can make me feel each
...
Yet , lest you think I rally more than teach , Or praise malignly arts I cannot reach ,
Let me for once presume to instruct the times To know the poet from the man of
rhymes : ' Tis he who gives my breast a thousand pains , Can make me feel each
...
Seite 49
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 noihing blackens like the ink of fools If
true , a woful likeness ; and if lies , · Praise undeserved is scandal in disguise ...
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 noihing blackens like the ink of fools If
true , a woful likeness ; and if lies , · Praise undeserved is scandal in disguise ...
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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.