Poems on Several Occasions: Together with the Song of the Three Children Paraphras'd

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W.B., 1703 - 198 pages
 

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Page 105 - Then am I happy in my humble State, Altho' not crown'd with Glory nor with Bays : A Mind, that triumphs over Vice and Fate, Esteems it mean to court the World for Praise.
Page 104 - If reason rules within, and keeps the throne, While the inferior faculties obey, And all her laws without reluctance own, Accounting none more fit, more just than they ; If virtue my free soul unsullied keeps, Exempting it from passion and from stain ; If no black guilty thoughts disturb my sleeps, And no past crimes my vext remembrance pain ; K If, tho...
Page 40 - Which nothing, nothing can divide: When she the word Obey has said, And Man by Law supreme has made Then all that's kind is laid aside And nothing left but state...
Page 33 - ... Pious, Lib'ral, Just and Brave, And to his Passions not a Slave; Who full of Honour, void of Pride, Will freely praise, and freely chide; But not indulge the smallest Fault, Nor entertain one slighting Thought: Who still the same will ever prove, Will still instruct and still will love: In whom I safely may confide, And with him all my Cares divide: Who has a large capacious Mind, Join'd with a Knowledge unconfin'd: A Reason bright, a Judgement true, A Wit both quick, and solid too: Who can of...
Page 40 - Then but to look, to laugh, or speak, Will the Nuptial Contract break. Like Mutes she Signs alone must make, And never any Freedom take: But still be govern'd by a Nod, And fear her Husband as her God...
Page 104 - Thoughts difturb my Sleeps, And no. paft Crimes my vext Remembrance pain. If, tho' I Pleafure find in living here, , I yet can look on Death without Surprize: If I've a Soul above the Reach of Fear, And which will nothing mean or fordid prize.
Page 40 - Him still must serve, him still obey, And nothing act, and nothing say, But what her haughty Lord thinks fit, Who with the Pow'r, has all the Wit. Then shun, oh! shun that wretched State, And all the fawning Flatt'rers hate: Value your selves, and Men despise, You must be proud, if you'll be wise.
Page 29 - ... flying! Who would, for trifles, think of dying ? Who, for a face, a shape, would languish ; And tell the brooks and groves his anguish, Till She, till She thinks fit to prize him ; And all, and all beside, despise him ? Fix, fix your thoughts on what 's inviting ! On what will never bear the slighting ! Wit and Virtue claim your duty!

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