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Page 152 - Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing: For why should others' false adulterate eyes Give salutation to my sportive blood? Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, Which in their wills count bad what I think good? No, I am that I am, and they that level At my abuses reckon up their own: I may be straight though they themselves be bevel; By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown; Unless this general evil they maintain, All men are bad and in their badness reign.
Page 116 - Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
Page 24 - Will play the cook, and servant; 'tis our match : The sweat of industry would dry, and die, But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs Will make what's homely, savoury: Weariness Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth Finds the down pillow hard.
Page 93 - I therefore pray thee, Renny dear, That thou wilt give to me, With cream and sugar soften'd well, Another dish of tea. " Nor fear that I, my gentle maid, Shall long detain the cup, When once unto the bottom I Have drunk the liquor up. " Yet hear, alas ! this mournful truth, Nor hear it with a frown ; — Thou canst not make the tea so fast As I can gulp it down.
Page 142 - Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds! Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim...
Page 142 - The glories of our birth and state Are shadows, not substantial things : There is no armor against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page 286 - Grace was in all her steps. Heaven in her eye, In every gesture dignity and love.
Page 160 - tis fair, yet seems to call a coach. The tuck'd-up sempstress walks with hasty strides, While streams run down her oil'd umbrella's sides. Here various kinds, by various fortunes led, Commence acquaintance underneath a shed. Triumphant Tories and desponding Whigs Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs.
Page 37 - Receive them free, and sell them by the weight; Bags of fiery opals, sapphires, amethysts, Jacinths, hard topaz, grass-green emeralds, Beauteous rubies, sparkling diamonds, And seld-seen costly stones of so great price, As one of them indifferently rated, And of a carat of this quantity, May serve, in peril of calamity, To ransom great kings from captivity...