The poetical works of ... Wentworth Dillon, earl of Roscommon

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R. Urie, 1749
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Page 130 - ... adsuitur pannus, cum lucus et ara Dianae et properantis aquae per amoenos ambitus agros aut flumen Rhenum aut pluvius describitur arcus; sed nunc non erat his locus. et fortasse cupressum scis simulare: quid hoc, si fractis enatat exspes 20 navibus, aere dato qui pingitur?
Page 240 - ... verum ubi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis offendar maculis, quas aut incuria fudit aut humana parum cavit natura.
Page 23 - Immodest words admit of no defence ; For want of decency is want of sense.
Page xi - Nature's chief Master-piece is writing well." Such was Roscommon, not more learn'd than good, With manners gen'rous as his noble blood; To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known, And ev'ry author's merit, but his own.
Page 128 - ... 10 scimus, et hanc veniam petimusque damusque vicissim; sed non ut placidis coeant immitia, non ut serpentes avibus geminentur, tigribus agni. Inceptis gravibus plerumque et magna professis purpureus, late qui splendeat, unus et alter...
Page ix - It was my Lord Roscommon's Essay on Translated Verse ; which made me uneasy till I tried whether or no I was capable of following his rules, and of reducing the speculation into practice. For many a fair precept in Poetry is like a seeming demonstration in the Mathematics, very specious in the diagram, but failing in the mechanic operation.
Page 251 - What you keep by you, you may change and mend But words once spoke can never be recalled.
Page 35 - E'er felt the raptures of poetic rage. Of many faults, rhyme is, perhaps, the cause ; Too strict to rhyme, we slight more useful laws ; For that, in Greece or Rome, was never known, Till by barbarian deluges o'erflown: Subdued, undone, they did at last obey, And change their own for their invaders
Page 48 - In that sad place from whence is no return; For unbelief in one they never knew, Or for not doing what they could not do! The very fiends know For what crime they fell, And...
Page 31 - Shows how mistaken talents ought to thrive. I pity, from my soul, unhappy men, Compell'd by want to prostitute their pen ; Who must, like lawyers, either starve or plead, And follow, right or wrong, where guineas lead ! But you, Pompilian, wealthy, pamper'd heirs, Who to your country owe your swords and cares, Let no vain hope your easy mind seduce, For rich ill poets are without excuse ; 'Tis very dangerous tampering with the Muse, The profit 's small, and you have much to lose ; For though true...

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