A Satire Anthology

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C. Scribner's sons, 1905 - English poetry - 369 pages
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Page 97 - She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found That was so large and smooth and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy Who stood expectant by: And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh "'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory.
Page 20 - My liege, I did deny no prisoners. But I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat...
Page 22 - All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits, and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover; Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress...
Page 28 - WHY so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
Page 87 - tis He alone Decidedly can try us; He knows each chord, — its various tone, Each spring, — its various bias: Then at the balance let's be mute; We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
Page 99 - They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun: But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. "Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won And our good Prince Eugene." "Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!" Said little Wilhelmine. "Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory.
Page 186 - Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat — Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, Lost all the others, she lets us devote ; They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, So much was theirs who so little allowed : How all our copper had gone for his service ! Rags, — were they purple, his heart had been proud...
Page 190 - Gr-rr — there go, my heart's abhorrence! Water your damned flower-pots, do! If hate killed men, Brother Lawrence, God's blood, would not mine kill you! What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming? Oh, that rose has prior claims — Needs its leaden vase filled brimming? Hell dry you up with its flames!
Page 60 - SHUT, shut the door, good John ! fatigued, 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, 5 They rave, recite, and madden round the land.
Page 22 - Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school : and then, the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress

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