The Works of Jonathan Swift: Containing Additional Letters, Tracts, and Poems, Not Hitherto Published (Google eBook)

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Bickers, 1883
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Page 54 - Mrs. Nab, it might become you to be more civil ; If your money be gone, as a learned Divine says,* d'ye see, You are no text for my handling ; so take that from me : I was never taken for a Conjurer before, I'd have you to know.
Page 51 - I was resolved to tell my money, to see if it was right. Now, you must know, because my trunk has a very bad lock, Therefore all the money I have, which, God knows, is a very small stock, I keep in my pocket, ty'd about my middle, next my smock.
Page 329 - The Dean, if we believe report, Was never ill received at court: As for his works in verse and prose, I own myself no judge of those: Nor can I tell what critics thought 'em; But this I know, all people bought 'em; As with a moral view design'd To cure the vices of mankind: His vein, ironically grave, Expos'd the fool, and lash'd the knave: To steal a hint was never known, But what he writ was all his own.
Page 434 - Three times refined in Titan's rays ; Then calls the Graces to her aid, And sprinkles thrice the newborn maid : From whence the tender skin assumes A sweetness above all perfumes : From whence a cleanliness remains, Incapable of outward stains : From whence that decency of mind, So lovely in the female kind, Where not one careless thought intrudes . Less modest than the speech of prudes ; Where never blush was call'd in aid, That spurious virtue in a maid, A virtue but at second-hand ; They blush...
Page 450 - Tis an old maxim in the schools, That flattery's the food of fools; Yet now and then your men of wit Will condescend to take a bit.
Page 306 - Like stepping-stones, to save a stride In streets where kennels are too wide; Or like a heel-piece, to support A cripple with one foot too short: Or like a bridge, that joins a marish To moorlands of a diff'rent parish.
Page 92 - Box'd in a chair the beau impatient sits, While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits, And ever and anon with frightful din The leather sounds, he trembles from within.
Page 319 - I have no title to aspire; Yet, when you sink, I seem the higher. In Pope I cannot read a line, But with a sigh I wish it mine; When he can in one couplet fix More sense than I can do in six; It gives me such a jealous fit, I cry, "Pox take him and his wit!
Page 331 - Fair LIBERTY was all his cry; For her he stood prepar'd to die; For her he boldly stood alone; For her he oft expos'd his own. Two kingdoms, just as faction led, Had set a price upon his head; But not a traitor could be found, To sell him for six hundred pound.
Page 293 - Mournful cypress, verdant willow, Gilding my Aurelia's brows, Morpheus hovering o'er my pillow, Hear me pay my dying vows.

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