A Collection of Poems: Viz. The Temple of Death

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Ralph Smith, at the Bible, 1702 - English poetry - 453 pages
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Page 307 - Lets through its meshes every meaner thought, While rich ideas there are only caught? Sure that's not all; this is a piece too fair To be the child of Chance, and not of Care. No atoms casually together hurl'd Could e'er produce so beautiful a world. Nor dare I such a doctrine here admit, As would destroy the providence of Wit. Tis your strong genius, then, which does not feel Those weights would make a weaker spirit reel.
Page 306 - Singing no more can your foft numbers grace, Than paint adds charms unto a beauteous face. Yet as, when mighty rivers gently creep, Their even calmnefs does fuppofe them deep ; Such is your Mufe : no metaphor fwell'd high With dangerous boldnefs lifts her to the fky : Thofe mounting fancies, when they fall again, Shew fand and dirt at bottom do remain.
Page 393 - HAPPY the man who, void of cares and strife, In silken or in leathern purse retains A Splendid Shilling. He nor hears with pain New oysters...
Page 319 - ... courts, or starve, Were proud, so good a Government to serve ; And, mixing with buffoons and pimps profane, Tainted the stage for some small snip of gain : For they, like harlots, under bawds professed, Took all the ungodly pains, and got the least.
Page 411 - Of our deprest, and pond'rous Frame, Which, till the First degrading Sin Let Thee, its dull Attendant, in, Still with the Other did comply, Nor clogg'd the Active Soul, dispos'd to fly, And range the Mansions of it's native Sky.
Page 154 - And while her power he does defame; He poorly doubles his own shame! Even that, malice does betray, And speak concern another way; And all such scorn in men is but The smokes of fires ill put out!
Page 31 - I'll expeft the fatal blow ; My limbs not trembling, in my mind no fear, Plaints in my mouth, nor in my eyes a tear. Think not that Time, our wonted fure relief, That univerfal cure for every grief, Whofe aid fo many lovers oft...
Page 45 - At whofe command the foaming billows roar, Yet know their limits, tremble and adore. Ye...
Page 397 - Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils Inextricable, nor will aught avail Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue ; The wasp insidious, and the buzzing drone, And butterfly proud of expanded wings Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares, Useless resistance make : with eager strides, She...
Page 283 - Then bless your stars, you happy London Wives Who love at large, each Day, yet keep your Lives: Nor envy poor Imoinda's doating...

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