The Works of Alexander Pope, Volume 3 (Google eBook)

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J. Murray, 1881 - Poets, English
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Page 71 - twould a saint provoke," (Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke ;} " No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face : One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead — And — Betty — give this cheek a little red.
Page 256 - Peace to all such ! but were there one whose fires True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; Blest with each talent and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live with ease : Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne...
Page 256 - Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; "Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike...
Page 387 - True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learned to dance.
Page 536 - Like Cato, give his little senate laws, And sit attentive to his own applause ; While wits and templars every sentence raise, And wonder with a foolish face of praise ; Who but must laugh if such a man there be ? Who would not weep if Atticus were he?
Page 154 - Of mimic statesmen, and their merry king. No wit to flatter, left of all his store ! No fool to laugh at, which he valued more. There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends, And fame ; this lord of useless thousands ends.
Page 535 - I said; Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. The Dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt, All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out: Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, They rave, recite, and madden round the land.
Page 183 - Another age shall see the golden ear Imbrown the slope, and nod on the parterre, Deep harvests bury all his pride has plann'd, And laughing Ceres reassume the land.
Page 509 - In vain th' observer eyes the builder's toil, But quite mistakes the scaffold for the pile. In this one passion man can strength enjoy, As fits give vigour just when they destroy. Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand, Yet tames not this ; it sticks to our last sand. Consistent in our follies and our sins, Here honest Nature ends as she begins.
Page 523 - You show us, Rome was glorious, not profuse, And pompous buildings once were things of use. Yet shall (my lord) your just, your noble rules Fill half the land with imitating fools, Who random drawings from your sheets shall take, And of one beauty many blunders make...