The Poetical Works of Samuel Johnson: Collated with the Best Editions (Google eBook)

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Printed at the Stanhope Press, by Whittingham & Rowland; Published by Suttaby, 1811 - 133 pages
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Page 25 - Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, And pause awhile from letters, to be wise; There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail.
Page 26 - His fall was destined to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; He left the name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale.
Page 26 - On what foundation stands the warrior's pride, How just his hopes let Swedish Charles decide; A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, No dangers fright him, and no labours tire...
Page 62 - Ah ! let not Censure term our fate our choice, The stage but echoes back the public voice ; The drama's laws, the drama's patrons give, For we that live to please, must please to live.
Page 29 - New sorrow rises as the day returns, A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns. Now kindred Merit fills the sable bier, Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear. Year chases year, decay pursues decay, Still drops some joy from...
Page 26 - Condemn'da needy supplicant to wait; While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. But did not Chance at length her error mend? Did no subverted empire mark his end? Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound? Or hostile millions press him to the ground? His fall was...
Page 62 - Tis yours, this night, to bid the reign commence Of rescued Nature and reviving Sense ; To chase the charms of sound, the pomp of show, For useful mirth and salutary woe ; Bid scenic Virtue form the rising age, And Truth diffuse her radiance from the stage.
Page 88 - The busy day, the peaceful night, Unfelt, uncounted, glided by; His frame was firm his powers were bright, Though now his eightieth year was nigh. Then with no fiery throbbing pain, No cold gradations of decay, Death broke at once the vital chain, And freed his soul the nearest way.
Page 60 - The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame, Nor wish'd for Jonson's art, or Shakspeare's flame. Themselves they studied; as they felt, they writ: Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit.
Page 12 - Thames's banks, in silent thought, we stood Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver flood; Struck with the seat that gave Eliza * birth, We kneel, and kiss the consecrated earth; In pleasing dreams the blissful age renew, And call Britannia's glories back to view; Behold her cross triumphant on the main, The guard of commerce, and the dread of Spain, Ere masquerades debauch'd, excise oppress'd, Or English honour grew a standing jest. A transient calm the happy scenes bestow, And for a moment lull...

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