The poetical works of Alexander Pope, Volume 1

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Ingram, Cooke, 1853
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The Poetical Works of Alexander Pope - Page 346 de Alexander Pope, Robert Carruthers - 1853 Now, dear madam, let this be inquired after from Mrs. Bellingen, and if you write me a letter by the penny post, directed to Mr. Mauvillain, at Morden, ...

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Page 101 - 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 214 - Here shift the scene, to represent How those I love, my death lament. Poor Pope will grieve a month; and Gay A week ; and Arbuthnot a day. St John himself will scarce forbear, To bite his pen, and drop a tear. The rest will give a shrug and cry I'm sorry; but we all must die.
Page 101 - 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 260 - ... you have made my system as clear as I ought to have done, and could not. It is indeed the same system as mine, but illustrated with a ray of your own, as they say our natural body is the same still when it is glorified.
Page 142 - tis justice, soon or late, Mercy alike to kill or save. Virtue unmov'd can hear the call, And face the flash that melts the ball.
Page 138 - What are the gay parterre, the chequer'd shade, The morning bower, the evening colonnade, But soft recesses of uneasy minds, To sigh unheard in to the passing winds ? So the struck deer, in some sequester'd part, Lies down to die, the arrow at his heart; There, stretch'd unseen in coverts hid from day, Bleeds drop by drop, and pants his life away.
Page 10 - Me, let the tender office long engage To rock the cradle of reposing age, With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, 410 Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death, Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep a while one parent from the sky!
Page 34 - Tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper. Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour. For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their midnight taper, To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.
Page 125 - There my Retreat, the best Companions grace, Chiefs out of War, and Statesmen out of Place. There ST JOHN mingles with my friendly Bowl, The Feast of Reason, and the Flow of Soul. And HE, whose Lightning pierc'd th...
Page 72 - Treasurer, that, according to his petition, he should obtain a salary of 200/. per annum as minister of the English church at Rotterdam. He stopped F. Gwynne, Esq., going in with the red bag to the Queen, and told him aloud he had something to say to him from my Lord Treasurer. He talked with the son of Dr. Davenant to be sent abroad, and took out his pocket-book, and wrote down several things, as memoranda, to do for him.

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