The works of the English poets. With prefaces, biographical and critical, by S. Johnson (Google eBook)

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Page 239 - Rules, which, when truths themselves reveal, Bid us to follow what we feel. The world can't hear the...
Page 215 - Nor, hir'd to praise with stallion pen Serve the ear-lechery of men; But to avoid religious jars The laws are my expositors, Which in my doubting mind create Conformity to church and state.
Page 237 - Said a formal non-con, (whose rich stock of grace Lies forward expos'd in shop-window of face) Ah! pity your soul: come, be of our sect: For then you are safe, and may plead you're elect.
Page 225 - Two hundred pounds, half-yearly paid, Annuity securely made, A farm some twenty miles from town, Small, tight, salubrious, and my own: Two maids, that never saw the town, A serving-man not quite a clown, A boy to help to tread the mow...
Page 248 - Not knowing home in such a plight, Fly to and' fro, afraid to light. Far from my theme, from method far, Convey'd in Venus' flying car, I go compell'd by feather'd steeds, That scorn the rein, when Delia leads.
Page 213 - Am loth to lend, or run in debt. No compter-writs me agitate ; Who moralizing pass the gate, And there mine eyes on spendthrifts turn, Who vainly o'er their bondage mourn.
Page 246 - Before they died, been forced to creep. They politics, like ours, profess : The greater prey upon the less. Some strain on foot huge loads to bring, Some toil incessant on the wing...
Page 226 - Invite, and contemplation aid: Here nymphs from hollow oaks relate The dark decrees and will of fate, And dreams beneath the spreading beech Inspire, and docile fancy teach; While soft as breezy breath of wind, Impulses rustle through the mind: Here Dryads, scorning Phoebus
Page 246 - Some frolic, toil, marry, increase, Are sick and well, have war and peace, And, broke with age, in half a day Yield to successors, and away. Let not prophane this sacred place, Hypocrisy with Janus...
Page 241 - Eloquent Want, whose reasons sway, And make ten thousand truths give way. While I your scheme with pleasure trace, Draws near, and stares me in the face.

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