Works: In English Verse, Volume 4

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Page 297 - I took Parnell this morning, and we walked to see poor Harrison. I had the hundred pounds in my pocket. I told Parnell I was afraid to knock at the door; my mind misgave me. I knocked, and his man in tears told me his master was dead an hour before.
Page 68 - Swift much admires the place and air, And longs to be a canon there; In summer round the park to ride, In winter — never to reside. A canon ! that's a place too mean : No, doctor, you shall be a dean; Two dozen canons round your stall, And you the tyrant o'er them all : You need but cross the Irish seas, To live in plenty, power, and ease.
Page 70 - What ! I suppose now stocks are high, You've some good purchase in your eye ? Or is your money out at use?" — " Truce, good my lord, I beg a truce...
Page 23 - If well-tuned harps, nor the more pleasing sound Of voices, from the vaulted roofs rebound ; Yet on the grass, beneath a poplar shade, By the cool stream, our careless limbs are laid ; With cheaper pleasures innocently blest, When the warm spring with gaudy flowers is drest.
Page 69 - Takes horse, and in a mighty fret, Rides day and night at such a rate, He soon arrives at Harley's gate; But was so dirty, pale, and thin, Old Read f would hardly let him in.
Page 150 - Swears at the flinchers who refufe their glafs. Would you not pafs for an ill-natur'd man, Comply with every humour that you can. Pope will inftruft you how to pafs away Your time like him, and never lofe a day ; From hopes or fears your quiet to defend, To all mankind as to yourfelf a friend, And, facred from the world, rctir'd, unknown, To lead a life with mortals like his own.
Page 49 - Conspicuous scene ! another yet is nigh, (More silent far) where kings and poets lie; Where Murray (long enough his country's pride) Shall be no more than Tully or than Hyde...
Page 156 - Twas from the Bottle King deriv'd his Wit, Drank till he could not talk, and then he writ. Let no coif 'd Serjeant touch the facred Juke, But leave it to the Bards for better Ufe : Let the grave Judges too the Glafs forbear, Who never fing and dance but once a Year. This Truth once known, our Poets take the Hint, Get drunk or mad, and then get into Print : To raife their Flames indulge the mellow fit, And lofe their Senfes in the Search of Wit : And when with Claret fir'd they take the Pen...
Page 78 - So, SIR, with this Epistolary Scroll, Receive the Partner of my inmost Soul : Him you will find in Letters, and in Laws Not unexpert, firm to his Country's Cause, Warm in the Glorious Interest You pursue, And, in one Word, a Good Man and a True.
Page 156 - Till generous Bacchus help'd to fan the Fire. Warm'd by two Gods at once, they drink and write, Rhyme all the Day, and fuddle all the Night.

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