The English humorists of the Eighteenth century: Critical reviews ; The second funeral of Napoleon

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Estes & Lauriat, 1896 - English literature - 418 pages
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Page 129 - When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents...
Page 261 - At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn'd the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, And fools who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.
Page 130 - I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion ; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow: when I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions and debates of mankind.
Page 80 - So when an angel by divine command With rising tempests shakes a guilty land, Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past, Calm and serene he drives the furious blast, And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform, 20 Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.
Page 30 - A child will make two dishes at an entertainment for friends, and when the family dines alone, the fore or hind quarter will make a reasonable dish...
Page 235 - ... by composing, instead of inflaming, the quarrels of porters and beggars (which I blush when I say hath not been universally practised) and by refusing to take a shilling from a man who most undoubtedly would not have had another left, I had reduced an income of about 500 a year of the dirtiest money upon earth, to little more than 300 ; a considerable proportion of which remained with my clerk...
Page 67 - See ! see, she wakes — Sabina wakes ! And now the sun begins to rise ? Less glorious is the morn, that breaks • From his bright beams, than her fair eyes. With light united, day they give ; But different fates ere night fulfil : How many by his warmth will live ! How many will her coldness kill...
Page 273 - Sweet AUBURN ! parent of the blissful hour, Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. Here, as I take my solitary rounds...
Page 88 - I HAVE observed, that a reader seldom peruses a book with pleasure, till he knows whether the writer of it be a black or a fair man, of a mild or choleric disposition, married or a bachelor, with other particulars of the like nature, that conduce very much to the right understanding of an author.
Page 23 - Then he instructed a young nobleman, that the best poet in England was Mr. Pope (a papist), who had begun a translation of Homer into English for which he would have them all subscribe : ' For,' says he, ' he shall not begin to print till I have a thousand guineas for him.

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