Polyanthos, Volume 4

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J.T. Buckingham, 1807
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Page 270 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate: Death lays his icy hand on kings. Sceptre and crown Must tumble down And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page 286 - And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Never, never, never, never, never!
Page 271 - Crabbed age and youth Cannot live together ; Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care : Youth like summer morn, Age like winter weather ; Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare. Youth is full of sport, Age's breath is short, Youth is nimble, age is lame: Youth is hot and bold, Age is weak and cold ; Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Page 47 - To BLOSSOMS FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree. Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile To blush and gently smile, And go at last. What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night? 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth. And lose you quite.
Page 271 - Crabbed age and youth cannot live together Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care; Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather; Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare; Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short; Youth is nimble, age is lame; Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, and age is tame. Age, I do abhor thee; youth, I do adore thee; O, my love, my love is young! Age, I do defy thee: O, sweet shepherd, hie thee, For methinks thou stay'st too long.
Page 67 - how the world wags: Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.
Page 271 - The garlands wither on your brow ; Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon death's purple altar, now, See where the victor victim bleeds ! All heads must come To the cold tomb, Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
Page 165 - Compared to that was next her chin (Some bee had stung it newly) ; But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face, I durst no more upon them gaze, Than on the sun in July. Her mouth so small, when she does speak, Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break, That they might passage get ; But she so handled still the matter, They came as good as ours, or better, And are not spent a whit. Passion o
Page 204 - I did their burning rays behold, Nor voice, whose sounds more strange effects do show Than of the Thracian harper have been told. Look to this dying lily, fading rose, Dark hyacinth, of late whose blushing beams Made all the neighbouring...
Page 272 - A School for Scandal! tell me, I beseech you, Needs there a school this modish art to teach you? No need of lessons now, the knowing think; We might as well be taught to eat and drink. Caused by a dearth of scandal, should the vapours Distress our fair ones — let them read the papers; Their powerful mixtures such disorders hit; Crave what you will — there's quantum sufficit. "Lord!

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