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Seite 270 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. 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 : Your heads must come To the cold tomb ; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet,...
Seite 269 - 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.
Seite 381 - Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in Man. What passion cannot Music raise and quell? When Jubal struck the chorded shell, His listening brethren stood around, And, wondering, on their faces fell To worship that celestial sound. Less than a god they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell, That spoke so sweetly, and so well.
Seite 373 - Tis resolved, for Nature pleads that he " Should only rule who most resembles me. " Shadwell alone my perfect image bears, " Mature in dulness from his tender years ; " Shadwell alone of all my sons is he " Who stands confirmed in full stupidity. " The rest to some faint meaning make pretence, " But Shadwell never deviates into sense.
Seite 184 - tis all a cheat; Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit; Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay: To-morrow's falser than the former day; Lies worse, and, while it says, we shall be blest With some new joys, cuts off what we possest.
Seite 241 - Ibs. of tallow : now, all things civil, no rudeness anywhere ; then, as in a bear-garden : then, two or three fiddlers ; now, nine or ten of the best : then, nothing but rushes upon the ground, and every thing else mean ; now, all otherwise...
Seite 34 - The poor inhabitants were dispersed about St. George's Fields and Moorfields, as far as Highgate, and several miles in circle, some under tents, some under miserable huts and hovels, many without a rag, or any necessary utensils, bed, or board; who, from delicateness, riches, and easy accommodations in stately and well- furnished houses, were now reduced to extremest misery and poverty.
Seite 30 - ... season, I went on foot to the same place; and saw the whole south part of the City burning from Cheapside to the Thames...
Seite 280 - He, who still wanting, tho' he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left: And He, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning, Means not, but blunders round about a meaning...
Seite 367 - As I am no successor to Homer in his wit, so neither do I desire to be in his poverty. I can make no rhapsodies, nor go a begging at the Grecian doors, while I sing the praises of their ancestors. The times of Virgil please me better, because he had an Augustus for his patron; and, to draw the allegory nearer you, I am sure I shall not want a Maecenas with him.