Bell's Edition, Volumes 51-52

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J. Bell, 1787 - English poetry
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Page ii - I'd shun, with as much studious care, As I would dens where hungry lions are; And rather put up injuries, than be A plague to him, who'd be a plague to me. I value quiet at a price too great, To give for my revenge so dear a rate: For what do we by all our bustle gain, But counterfeit delight for real pain?
Page i - Give life an edge so keen, no surly care Would venture to assault my soul, or dare, Near my retreat, to hide one secret snare. But so divine, so noble a repast I'd seldom, and with moderation, taste : For highest cordials all their virtue lose, By a too frequent and too bold a use ; And what would cheer the spirits in distress, Ruins our health, when taken to excess.
Page 72 - See! see, she wakes — Sabina wakes! And now the sun begins to rise: Less glorious is the morn, that breaks From his bright beams, than her fair eyes. With light united day they give; But different fates ere night fulfil: How many by his warmth will live! How many will her coldness kill!
Page 135 - Strephon, choose a mate, From too exalted, or too mean a state ; For in both these we may expect to find A creeping spirit, or a haughty mind. Who moves within the middle region, shares The least disquiets, and the smallest cares.

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