The Poetical Works of Alexander Pope, Volume 1 (Google eBook)

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Ingram, Cooke, 1853
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Page 101 - Blest with each talent, and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live with ease; Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne...
Page 173 - I have ever hated all nations, professions, and communities; and all my love is towards individuals. For instance, I hate the tribe of lawyers; but I love Counsellor Such-a-one, and Judge Such-a-one. It is so with physicians. I will not speak of my own trade, soldiers, English, Scotch, French, and the rest. But principally I hate and detest that animal called man, although I heartily love John, Peter, Thomas, and so forth.
Page 3 - Who builds a church to God, and not to Fame, Will never mark the marble with his name : Go, search it there, where to be born and die, Of rich and poor makes all the history ; Enough, that Virtue fill'd the space between ; Prov'd by the ends of being, to have been.
Page 101 - Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike...
Page 214 - Here shift the scene, to represent How those I love, my death lament. Poor Pope will grieve a month; and Gay A week ; and Arbuthnot a day. St John himself will scarce forbear, To bite his pen, and drop a tear. The rest will give a shrug and cry I'm sorry; but we all must die.
Page 198 - This gave Mr. Pope the thought that he had now some opportunity of doing good, by detecting and dragging into light these common enemies of mankind; since, to invalidate this universal slander, it sufficed to show what contemptible men were the authors of it. He was not without hopes, that by...
Page 260 - ... you have made my system as clear as I ought to have done, and could not. It is indeed the same system as mine, but illustrated with a ray of your own, as they say our natural body is the same still when it is glorified.
Page 116 - I'll think as hard as I can. Silence ensued for a full hour ; after which Mr. Lintot lugged the reins, stopped short, and broke out, " Well, Sir, how far have you gone ?" I answered, Seven miles. " Z ds, Sir," said Lintot, " I thought you had done seven stanzas.
Page 34 - tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour; 1740 For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper," To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.
Page 68 - And lonely woodcocks haunt the watery glade. He lifts the tube, and levels with his eye; Straight a short thunder breaks the frozen sky: Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamorous lapwings feel the leaden death: Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare, They fall, and leave their little lives in air.

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