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Anacreon answer'd ask'd bard Bavius beauty behold blest boast Boney BOOK call'd Careless cause charms Chloe cried Crown 8vo dear death Dick divine doctor drink earth earth art Edition Eikon Basilike EPIGRAMS EPITAPH eyes fair fame fate fear foes folly fool French George give grace grave Greeh hast head hear heart heaven IDA PFEIFFER Jack John Justice king kiss knave LADY late late Traded Lesbia lies live Lord marble married Martial merry old England monarch ne'er never o'er once OWEN MOORE pity poet poor praise pray Price Punch Queen quoth reign replied rose sigh slopseller smile soul steal sure sweet tear tell thee Themistocles there's thet thine things THOMAS FULLER thou art true twas twill Venus verse Washington Irving Whigs wife WILLIAM HONE wine wise wonder worse
Page 6 - Live while you live, the Epicure would say, And seize the pleasures of the present day. Live while you live, the sacred Preacher cries, And give to God each moment as it flies.
Page 71 - THREE poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed; The next in majesty; in both the last. The force of nature could no further go ; To make a third, she joined the former two.
Page 222 - Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory — Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
Page 79 - Shakspearc and Milton, like gods in the fight, Have put their whole drama and epic to flight ; In satires, epistles, and odes, would they cope. Their numbers retreat before Dryden and Pope ; And Johnson, well arm'd like a hero of yore, Has beat forty French, \ and will beat forty more...
Page 5 - On parent knees, a naked new-born child Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smiled ; So live, that sinking in thy last long sleep, Calm thou mayst smile, while all around thee weep.
Page 144 - But now, her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on cut short all; The doctors found, when she was dead, — Her last disorder mortal. Let us lament, in sorrow sore, For Kent Street well may say, That had she lived a twelvemonth more — She had not died to-day.
Page 59 - In all thy humours, whether grave or mellow, Thou'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow; Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen, about thee, There is no living with thee, nor without thee.
Page 154 - What can the cause be, when the king hath given His poet sack, the household will not pay? Are they so scanted in their store? — or driven For want of knowing the poet, to say him nay? Well, they should know him, would the king but grant His poet leave to sing his household true...