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admire appear arms bear beauty beſt blood breaſt bright cares charms command common dare death delight divine dull earth eyes face fair fall fame fate fear fire firſt flame flow fond fool force give grace hand happy hear heart heaven honour hope joys juſt keep kind labour laſt leave light live looks maid mind moſt mourn move Muſe muſt nature never night o'er once pain paſſion pleaſe pleaſure poet poor praiſe pride prove race rage raiſe reaſon riſe rule ſee ſenſe ſhades ſhall ſhe ſhould ſhow ſmiles ſome ſoul ſtate ſtill ſuch tears tell thee theſe things thoſe thou thought town true truth turn uſe vain verſe virtues voice Whilſt Whoſe wiſe wretched write youth
Page 249 - Let not those agonies be vain. Thou whom avenging powers obey, Cancel my debt (too great to pay) Before the sad accounting day.
Page 335 - ... deny'd ? And may not I have leave impartially To search and censure Dryden's works, and try If those gross faults his choice pen doth commit Proceed from want of judgment, or of wit ? Or if his lumpish fancy does refuse Spirit and grace to his loose slattern Muse ? Five hundred verses every morning writ, Prove him no more a poet than a wit...
Page 217 - Comment that your Care can find, Some here, some there, may hit the Poet's Mind; Yet be not blindly guided by the Throng; The Multitude is always in the Wrong.
Page 316 - ... take care Upon this point, not to be too severe. Perhaps my muse were fitter for this part, For I profess I can be very smart On wit, which I abhor with all my heart.
Page 334 - Dryden in vain tried this nice way of wit; For he, to be a tearing blade, thought fit To give the ladies a dry bawdy bob ; And thus he got the name of Poet Squab. But to be just, 'twill to his praise be found, His excellencies more than faults abound ; Nor dare I from his sacred temples tear The laurel, which he best deserves to wear.
Page 315 - Then old Age, and Experience, hand in hand, Lead him to Death, and make him understand, After a search so painful, and so long, That all his Life he has been in the wrong.
Page 292 - That tears my fixed heart from my love. When, wearied with a world of woe, To thy safe bosom I retire Where love and peace and truth does flow, May I contented there expire, Lest, once more wandering from that Heaven, I fall on some base heart unblest, Faithless to thee, false, unforgiven, And lose my everlasting rest.
Page 324 - Ere time and place were, time and place were not, When primitive Nothing something straight begot, Then all proceeded from the great united — What.