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Page 3 - And to be grave, exceeds all power of face. I sit with sad civility, I read With honest anguish, and an aching head ; And drop at last, but in unwilling ears, This saving counsel,
Page 141 - Berkshire, •This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say, Here lies an honest man : A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate, Whom Heaven kept sacred from the Proud and Great : Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease, Content with science in the vale of peace.
Page 36 - How's the wind ?' ' Whose chariot's that we left behind ?' Or gravely try to read the lines Writ underneath the country signs; Or, ' Have you nothing new to-day ' From Pope, from Parnell, or from Gay ?' Such tattle often entertains My lord and me as far as Staines, As once a week we travel down To Windsor, and again to town, Where all that passes inter nos Might be proclaim'd at Charing-cross.
Page 9 - Like Cato, give his little senate laws, And sit attentive to his own applause ; While wits and templars every sentence raise, And wonder with a foolish face of praise — Who but must laugh if such a man there be ? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he ? What though my name stood rubric on the walls, Or plaster'd posts, with claps, in capitals ? Or smoking forth, a hundred hawkers...
Page 11 - Proud as Apollo on his forked hill, Sat full-blown Bufo, puff'd by every quill ; Fed with soft dedication all day long, Horace and he went hand in hand in song.
Page 42 - That keep me from myself; and still delay Life's instant business to a future day : That task, which as we follow, or despise, The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise : Which done, the poorest can no wants endure ; And which not done, the richest must be poor.
Page 17 - Born to no pride, inheriting no strife, Nor marrying discord in a noble wife, Stranger to civil and religious rage, The good man walk'd innoxious through his age.
Page 15 - Th' imputed trash, and dulness not his own ; The morals blacken'd when the writings 'scape, The libell'd person, and the pictur'd shape ; Abuse, on all he lov'd, or lov'd him, spread, A friend in exile, or a father dead : The whisper, that to greatness still too near, Perhaps yet vibrates on his sovereign's ear — Welcome for thee, fair virtue ! all the past : For thee, fair virtue ! welcome ev'n the last ! A. But why insult the poor, affront the great ? P.
Page 9 - Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne...
Page 140 - Kneller, by Heaven, and not a master taught, Whose art was nature, and whose pictures thought ; Now for two ages, having snatch'd from fate Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great, Lies crown'd with Princes' honours, Poets' lays, Due to his merit, and brave thirst of praise.