The British Essayists: The Tatler (Google eBook)

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J. Richardson, 1823 - English periodicals
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Page 43 - But neither breath of Morn when she ascends With charm of earliest birds ; nor rising sun On this delightful land ; nor herb, fruit, flower, Glistering with dew ; nor fragrance, after showers ; Nor grateful evening mild ; nor silent Night, With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon, Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet.
Page 43 - With thee conversing I forget all time, All seasons and their change, all please alike : Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds...
Page 2 - Like Niobe, all tears, why she, even she O God ! a beast that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourn'd longer married with mine uncle, My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules...
Page 2 - Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on; and yet, within a month, Let me not think on't: Frailty, thy name is woman! A little month, or ere those shoes were old With which she follow'd my poor father's body...
Page 58 - tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
Page 1 - So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on; and yet, within a month, Let me not think on't: Frailty, thy name is woman!
Page 44 - Others apart sat on a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate; Fix'd fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute, And found no end, in wandering mazes lost.
Page 26 - gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long...
Page 194 - Two urns by Jove's high throne have ever stood, The source of evil one, and one of good ; From thence the cup of mortal man he fills, Blessings to these, to those distributes ills; To most, he mingles both : the wretch decreed To taste the bad, unmix'd, is cursed indeed; Pursued by wrongs, by meagre famine driven, He wanders, outcast both of earth and heaven.
Page 362 - Papa could not hear me, and would play with me no more, for they were going to put him under ground, whence he could never come to us again.

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