The Works of Alexander Pope: With a Memoir of the Author, Notes, and Critical Notices on Each Poem (Google eBook)

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A. J. Valpy, 1835
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Page 11 - Send for him up; take no excuse.' The toil, the danger of the seas, Great ministers ne'er think of these; Or, let it cost five hundred pound, No matter where the money's found, It is but so much more in debt, And that they ne'er consider'd yet. ' Good Mr. Dean, go change your gown, Let my lord know you're come to town.
Page 98 - And sensible soft melancholy. "Has she no faults then, (Envy says) Sir?" Yes, she has one, I must aver; When all the world conspires to praise her, The woman's deaf, and does not hear.
Page 80 - A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, And greatly falling with a falling state. While Cato gives his little senate laws, What bosom beats not in his country's cause ? Who sees him act, but envies every deed ? Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed?
Page 97 - Mournful cypress, verdant willow, Gilding my Aurelia's brows, Morpheus hovering o'er my pillow, Hear me pay my dying vows.
Page 9 - I'VE often wish'd that I had clear For life, six hundred pounds a year, A handsome house to lodge a friend, A river at my garden's end, A terrace walk, and half a rood Of land, set out to plant a wood.
Page 13 - Or gravely try to read the lines Writ underneath the country signs; Or, ' Have you nothing new to-day ' From Pope, from Parnell, or from Gay ?' Such tattle often entertains My lord and me as far as Staines, As once a week we travel down To Windsor, and again to town, Where all that passes inter nos Might be proclaim'd at Charing-cross.
Page 101 - ... In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow ; In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens ; Joy lives not here, to happier seats it flies, And only dwells where Wortley casts her eyes. What are the gay parterre, the...
Page 60 - Oh lasting as those colours may they shine, Free as thy stroke, yet faultless as thy line ; New graces yearly like thy works display, Soft without weakness, without glaring gay ; Led by some rule, that guides, but not constrains ; And finish'd more...
Page 64 - The shining robes, rich jewels, beds of state, And, to complete her bliss, a Fool for Mate. She glares in Balls, front Boxes, and the Ring, A vain, unquiet, glitt'ring, wretched Thing! Pride, Pomp, and State but reach her outward part; She sighs, and is no Duchess at her heart.
Page 49 - SEE the wild waste of all-devouring years! How Rome her own sad sepulchre appears ! With nodding arches, broken temples spread, The very tombs now vanish'd like their dead!

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