The Works of Dr. Jonathan Swift, Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin, Том 7W. Bowyer, C. Bathurst, W. Owen, W. Strahan, J. Rivington, J. Hinton, L. Davis, and C. Reymers, R. Baldwin, J. Dodsley, S. Crowder and Company and B. Collins., 1768 |
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Сторінка 71 - But, that which wonderful appears, I speak to eyes, and not to ears. He oft...
Сторінка 275 - Let them rave at making laws ; While they never hold their tongue, Let them dabble in their dung : Let them form a grand committee, How to plague and starve the city ; Let them...
Сторінка 417 - THE VOWELS We are little airy creatures, All of different voice and features; One of us in glass is set, One of us you'll find in jet. T'other you may see in tin, And the fourth a box within. If the fifth you should pursue, It can never fly from you.
Сторінка 261 - So geographers, in Afric maps, With savage pictures fill their gaps, And o'er unhabitable downs Place elephants for want of towns.
Сторінка 92 - That lies in old wood like a hare in her form ; With teeth or with claws it will bite or will scratch, And chambermaids christen this worm a deathwatch ; Because like a watch it always cries click ; Then woe be to those in the house who are sick : For, as sure as a gun, they will give up the ghost, If the maggot cries click when it scratches the post.
Сторінка 260 - Depend upon't their judgment's right. But if you blab, you are undone : Consider what a risk you run : You lose your credit all at once ; The town will mark you for a dunce ; The vilest doggrel, Grub-street sends, Will pass for yours with foes and friends ; And you must bear the whole disgrace, Till some fresh blockhead takes your place.
Сторінка 178 - Hence the mean and sordid soul, Like his body, rank and foul; Hence that wild suspicious peep, Like a rogue that steals a sheep...
Сторінка 146 - But, madam, I beg you contrive and invent, And worry him out, till he gives his consent. Dear madam, whene'er of a barrack I think, An I were to be hang'd, I can't sleep a wink : For if a new crotchet comes into my brain, I can't get it out, though I'd never so fain.
Сторінка 359 - The Ass approaching next, confess'd, That in his heart he loved a jest: A wag he was, he needs must own, And could not let a dunce alone: Sometimes his friend he would not...
Сторінка 256 - Hath blasted with poetic fire. What hope of custom in the fair, While not a soul demands your ware? Where you have nothing to produce For private life, or public use? Court, city, country want you not; You cannot bribe, betray, or plot.