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Page 87 - Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave, Is but the more a fool, the more a knave. Who noble ends by noble means obtains, Or failing, smiles in exile or in chains, Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed Like Socrates, that man is great indeed. What's fame? a fancied life in others' breath, A thing beyond us, ev'n before our death.
Page 27 - KNOW then thyself, presume not God to scan, The proper study of mankind is Man. Placed on this isthmus of a middle state, A being darkly wise, and rudely great; With too much knowledge for the sceptic side, With too much weakness for the stoic's pride, He hangs between; in doubt to act or rest; In doubt to deem himself a god, or beast; In doubt his mind or body to prefer; Born but to die, and reasoning but to err...
Page 4 - The latent tracts, the giddy heights, explore Of all who blindly creep, or sightless soar; Eye Nature's walks, shoot Folly as it flies, And catch the Manners living as they rise: Laugh where we must, be candid where we can; But vindicate the ways of God to Man.
Page 43 - Ask where's the North ? at York, 'tis on the Tweed ; In Scotland, at the Orcades ; and there, At Greenland, Zembla, or the Lord knows where.
Page 37 - As man, perhaps, the moment of his breath Receives the lurking principle of death; The young disease, that must subdue at length, Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength; So, cast and mingled with his very frame.
Page 192 - No pleasing intricacies intervene, No artful wildness to perplex the scene ; Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother, And half the platform just reflects the other.
Page 95 - The centre mov'd, a circle straight succeeds, Another still, and still another spreads ; Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace ; His country next ; and next all human race ; Wide and more wide, th...
Page 170 - Or in proud falls magnificently lost, But clear and artless, pouring through the plain Health to the sick, and solace to the swain.
Page 51 - Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn, For him as kindly spread the flowery lawn: Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings? Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings. Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat ? Loves of his own and raptures swell the note.
Page 3 - AWAKE, my ST. JOHN ! leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride of kings. Let us (since life can little more supply Than just to look about us and to die) Expatiate free o'er all this scene of man; A mighty maze! but not without a plan; A wild, where weeds and flowers promiscuous shoot, Or garden tempting with forbidden fruit.