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abuse Ambrose Philips bard Bavius behold bless'd charms Cibber court cried Curl dear Dennis divine Dryden dull Dulness dunce Dunciad e'er epic Essay on Criticism ev'n eyes fair fame fool genins gentle goddess grace hath head heart Heav'n hero Homer honour Horace Iliad IMITATIONS James Moore JOHN DENNIS Journal king knave labour langh laws learned Leonard Welsted Letter Lewis Theobald live lord lov'd Matthew Concanen Mist's moral Muse ne'er never night numbers o'er octavo once Ovid person pleas'd poem poet poet's poetry Pope pow'r praise printed proud queen REMARKS rhyme rise round satire sing soft soul sure Swift tell thee Theobald thine things thou thought throne true truth Twas verse VIRG Virgil virtue WESTMINSTER ABBEY Whig wife wings words writ write youth
Сторінка 78 - With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death, Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep a while one parent from the sky...
Сторінка 76 - 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.
Сторінка 178 - See Mystery to Mathematics fly : 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.
Сторінка 67 - TWIT'NAM, and in humble strain Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain. Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the Laws, Imputes to me and my damn'd works the cause : Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope, And curses Wit, and Poetry, and Pope.
Сторінка 129 - True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
Сторінка 76 - A cherub's face, a reptile all the rest; Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust, Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.
Сторінка 70 - 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? As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.
Сторінка 68 - I'm all submission ; what you'd have it, make it." Three things another's modest wishes bound, My friendship, and a prologue, and ten pound. Pitholeon sends to me : " You know his grace : I want a patron ; ask him for a place.
Сторінка 72 - 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...
Сторінка 126 - He stuck to poverty with peace of mind ; And me, the Muses help'd to undergo it ; Convict a papist he, and I a poet. But (thanks to Homer) since I live and thrive, Indebted to no prince or peer alive ; Sure I should want the care of ten Monroes,3 If I would scribble rather than repose.