The Works of the Author of the Night-thoughts ...

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J. Dodsley, 1792 - 340 стор.
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Сторінка 194 - How rich the Peacock ! £ what bright glories run From plume to plume, and vary in the sun ! He proudly spreads them, to the golden ray Gives all his colours, and adorns the day ; With conscious state the spacious round displays, And slowly moves amid the waving blaze.
Сторінка 148 - One to destroy, is murder by the law ; And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe : To murder thousands, takes a specious name, " War's glorious art,
Сторінка 114 - Some ladies' judgment in their features lies, And all their genius sparkles from their eyes. But hold, she cries, Lampooner ! have a care, Must I want common sense because I'm fair ! O no : see Stella ; her eyes shine as bright As if her tongue was never in the right : And yet what real learning, judgment, fire ! She seems...
Сторінка 103 - As sure as cards he to th' assembly comes, And is the furniture of drawing-rooms : When Ombre calls, his hand and heart are free, And, joined to two, he fails not — to make three ; Narcissus is the glory of his race ; For who does nothing with a better grace ? To deck my list by nature were designed Such shining expletives of human kind, Who want, .while through blank life they dream along, Sense to be right and passion to be wrong.
Сторінка 73 - O'er globes, and sceptres, now on thrones it swells ; Now; trims the midnight lamp in college cells : ?Tis tory, whig ; it plots, prays, preaches, pleads, Harangues in senates, squeaks in masquerades.
Сторінка 79 - Whose mistress is saluted with a smack, And friend receiv'd with thumps upon the back) When thy sleek gelding nimbly leaps the mound. And Ringwood opens on the tainted ground, Is that thy praise ? Let...
Сторінка 29 - To bring th' eternal Author to my mind ! When oceans roar, or awful thunders roll, May thoughts of thy dread vengeance shake my soul ! When earth's in bloom, or planets proudly shine, Adore, my heart, the Majesty divine...
Сторінка 196 - Tis dreadful to behold his nostrils blaze ; To paw the vale he proudly takes delight, And triumphs in the fulness of his might ; High rais'd he snuffs the battle from afar, And burns to plunge amid the raging war ; And mocks at death, and throws his foam around, And in a storm of fury shakes the ground.
Сторінка 83 - s the specious trifling of the mind ; Or is at best a secondary aim, A chase for sport alone, and not for game. If so, sure they who the mere volume prize, But love the thicket where the quarry lies.
Сторінка 78 - High stations tumult, but not bliss, create : None think the great unhappy, but the great : Fools gaze, and envy ; envy darts a sting, Which makes a swain as wretched as a king.

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