The Cabinet: Or, Monthly Report of Polite Literature, Volume 4 (Google eBook)

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Mathews and Leigh., 1808
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Page 184 - I loved the man, and do honour his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. He was (indeed) honest, and of an open and free nature; had an excellent phantasy, brave notions, and gentle expressions...
Page 36 - O, woman ! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made ; When pain and anguish wring the brow A ministering angel thou...
Page 36 - Let Stanley charge with spur of fire With Chester charge, and Lancashire, Full upon Scotland's central host, Or victory and England's lost. Must I bid twice ? Hence, varlets ! fly ! Leave Marmion here alone to die.
Page 182 - Now of time they are much more liberal; for ordinary it is, that two young princes fall in love: after many traverses she is got with child: delivered of a fair boy: he is lost, groweth a man, falleth in love, and is ready to get another child; and all this in two hours...
Page 183 - If there be never a servant monster in the fair, who can help it, he says, nor a nest of antiques ? he is loth to make nature afraid in his plays, like those that beget tales, tempests, and such like drolleries...
Page 35 - For talents mourn, untimely lost, When best employ'd, and wanted most ; Mourn genius high, and lore profound, And wit that loved to play, not wound ; And all the reasoning powers divine, To penetrate, resolve, combine ; And feelings keen, and fancy's glow, They sleep with him who sleeps below...
Page 35 - Where taming thought to human pride ! The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 'Twill trickle to his rival's bier ; O'er PITT'S the mournful requiem sound, And Fox's shall the notes rebound. The solemn echo seems to cry, " Here let their discord with them die : Speak not for those a separate doom, Whom Fate made Brothers in the tomb ; But search the land of living men, Where wilt thou find their like agen...
Page 33 - NOVEMBER'S sky is chill and drear, November's leaf is red and sear : Late, gazing down the steepy linn, That hems our little garden in, Low in its dark and narrow glen, You scarce the rivulet might ken, So thick the tangled greenwood grew, So feeble trill'd the streamlet through : Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen, Through bush and brier, no longer green, An angry brook, it sweeps the glade, Brawls over rock and wild cascade, And, foaming brown with doubled speed, * Hurries its waters to the...
Page 6 - Tis not, as heads that never ache suppose, Forgery of fancy and a dream of woes ; Man is a harp whose chords elude the sight, Each yielding harmony, disposed aright, The screws reversed, (a task which if he please God in a moment executes with ease,) Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose, Lost, till he tune them, all their power and use.
Page 179 - To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, Am I thus ample to thy book and fame, While I confess thy writings to be such As neither man nor muse can praise too much.

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