The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, Том 30

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Samuel Johnson
C. Bathurst, 1779

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Страница 116 - Be to her virtues very kind; Be to her faults a little blind; Let all her ways be unconfin'd; And clap your padlock — on her mind.
Страница 223 - Whoever was depos'd or crown'd. Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise, They would not learn, nor could advise ; Without love, hatred, joy, or fear, They led — a kind of— as it were ; Nor wish'd, nor car'd, nor laugh'd, nor cried; And so they liv'd, and so they died.
Страница 170 - Ye had a paramour, All this may nought remove my thought, But that I will be your: And she shall...
Страница 167 - And water clere of the ryvere Shall be full swete to me: With which in hele I shall ryght wele Endure, as ye shall see; And, or we go, a bedde or two I can provyde anone : For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone.
Страница 179 - Upon this tree : and, as the tender mark Grew with the year, and widen'd with the bark, Venus had heard the virgin's soft address, That, as the wound, the passion might increase. As potent Nature shed her kindly...
Страница 157 - Be of your patron's mind, whate'er he says ; Sleep very much ; think little ; and talk less ; Mind neither good nor bad, nor right nor wrong, But eat your pudding, slave; and hold your tongue.
Страница 138 - Radcliff ; was so ill, That other doctors gave me over : He felt my pulse, prescribed his pill, And I was likely to recover. " But when the wit began to wheeze, And wine had warmed the politician, Cured yesterday of my disease, I died last night of my physician.
Страница 173 - Emma's, has adorn'd thy face ; And as her son has to my bosom dealt That constant flame, which faithful Henry felt...
Страница 110 - ... tis his fancy to run, At night he declines on his Thetis's breast. So, when I am wearied with wandering all day, To thee, my delight, in the evening I come : No matter what beauties I saw in my way ; They were but my visits, but thou art my home ! Then finish, dear Chloe, this pastoral war, And let us like Horace and Lydia agree ; For thou art a girl as much brighter than her, As he was a poet sublimer than me.