The Modern Dunciad, Virgil in London: And Other Poems (Google eBook)

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William Pickering, 1835 - Satire, English - 342 pages
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Page 98 - A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver. There would this monster make a man. Any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian.
Page 89 - While round the armed bands Did clap their bloody hands. He nothing common did or mean Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try; Nor call'd the Gods, with vulgar spite, To vindicate his helpless right ; But bow'd his comely head Down, as upon a bed.
Page 62 - The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose : And on old Hyems' chin and icy crown, An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set.
Page 62 - But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn, Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.
Page 119 - This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year: Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! This can unlock the gates of Joy; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
Page 117 - In saffron robe, with taper clear, And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry; Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream.
Page 118 - That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
Page 91 - That place, that does Contain my books, the best companions, is To me a glorious court, where hourly I Converse with the old sages and philosophers ; And sometimes for variety I confer With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels ; Calling their victories, if unjustly got, Unto a strict account ; and in my fancy, Deface their ill-placed statues.
Page 335 - Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, A task well suited to thy gentle mind ? Oh ! if sometimes thy spotless form descend, To me thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend ! When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart ; Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
Page 54 - There's not a wretch that lives on common charity But's happier than me : For I have known The luscious sweets of plenty; every night Have slept with soft content about my head, And never wak'd but to a joyful morning ; Yet now must fall like a full ear of corn, Whose blossom 'scap'd, yet's wither'd in the ripening.

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