The Complete Art of Poetry ... (Google eBook)

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C. Rivington, 1718 - English poetry
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Page 168 - Beyond this flood a frozen continent Lies, dark and wild, beat with perpetual storms Of whirlwind and dire hail ; which on firm land Thaws not, but gathers heap, and ruin seems Of ancient pile ; all else deep snow and ice...
Page 442 - Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake : Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble ; Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. All. Double, double, toil and trouble ; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. 3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf; Witches...
Page 345 - I did hear him groan; Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him and write his speeches in their books, Alas!
Page 78 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods...
Page 299 - That he should weep for her? What would he do Had he the motive and the cue for passion That I have? He would drown the stage with tears, And cleave the general ear with horrid speech, Make mad the guilty and appal the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed The very faculties of eyes and ears.
Page 320 - Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults To give in evidence. What then? what rests? Try what repentance can: what can it not? Yet what can it, when one can not repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul, that struggling to be free Art more engaged! Help, angels! make assay; Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe. All may be well.
Page 251 - Happy the man, and happy he alone, He, who can call to-day his own : He who, secure within, can say, To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
Page 400 - The fig-tree, not that kind for fruit renown'd, But such as, at this day, to Indians known; In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms, Branching so broad and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade, High overarch'd, and echoing walks between...
Page 201 - Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit; Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay: To-morrow's falser than the former day; Lies worse, and, while it says, we shall be blest With some new joys, cuts off what we possest.
Page 365 - Yet soon he heal'd ; for spirits that live throughout Vital In every part, not as frail man In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins, Cannot but by annihilating die ; Nor in their liquid texture mortal wound Receive, no more than can the fluid air...

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