The Works of Alexander Pope (Google eBook)

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Henry Lintot, 1737
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Page 204 - The world recedes; it disappears! Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy victory? O Death! where is thy sting?
Page 47 - People seek for what they call wit, on all subjects, and in all places ; not considering that nature loves truth so well, that it hardly ever admits of flourishing : Conceit is to nature what paint is to beauty ; it is not only needless, but impairs what it would improve.
Page 228 - Lordship may cause me to live agreeably in the town, or contentedly in the country, which is really all the difference I set between an easy fortune and a small one.
Page 53 - It is not enough that nothing offends the Ear, but a good Poet will adapt the very Sounds, as well as Words, to the things he treats of. So that there is (if one may express it so) a Style of Sound. As in describing a gliding Stream, the Numbers shou'd run easy and flowing; in describing a rough Torrent or Deluge, sonorous and swelling, and so of the rest.
Page 206 - I have an ambition of having it known that you are my friend, I shall be very proud of showing it by this, or any other instance. I question not but your Translation will enrich our tongue, and do honour to our country...
Page 195 - Plutarch just now told me, that 'tis in human life as in a game at tables, where a man may wish for the highest cast, but, if his chance be otherwise, he is e'en to play it as well as he can, and to make the best of it.
Page 73 - ... shade. In winter fire. Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years slide soft away. In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day. Sound sleep by night; study and ease, Together mixt; sweet recreation: And innocence, which most does please With meditation.
Page 141 - I paced on slowly, without company, or any interruption to the range of my thoughts. About a mile before I reached Oxford, all the bells...
Page 197 - The memory of man, (as it is elegantly exprefs'd in the Book of Wifdom) pafleth away as the remembrance of a gueft that tarrieth but one day. There are reafons enough, in the fourth chapter of the fame . book, to make any young man contented with the profpect of death.
Page 233 - Great Turk in poetry, who can never bear a brother on the throne ; and has his mutes too, a set of nodders, winkers, and whisperers, whose business is to strangle all other offsprings of wit in their birth.

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