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ALLAN RAMSAY beneath Biron blest bliss BORN bosom breast breath bright charms COLLEY CIBBER crown'd dear death delight e'er earth Ev'n eyes face fair fame fancy fate fear fond gentle GEORGE LILLO GEORGE SEWELL give grace grave Grongar Hill hair hand happy hast head hear heart heaven heel I three JOHN VANBRUGH Jove LEONARD WELSTED live Lord Lubberkin maid Metis mind Moria mortal Muse ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er pain peace pleas'd pleasure poet praise pride rise round seem'd shade shining sighs sing sleep smile soft song soon soul spleen swain sweet swelling sylphs taste tears tell Thalestris thee THOMAS TICKELL Thomas Warton thou thought three times mark trembling turn me thrice Twas Venus vows ween WILLIAM SHENSTONE Wilm Wilmot wind wings wretch youth
Page 220 - Sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood ; And where this valley winded out, below, The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard, to flow.
Page 332 - Wide and wider spreads the vale, As circles on a smooth canal : The mountains round, unhappy fate ! Sooner or later, of all height, Withdraw their summits from the skies, And lessen as the others rise : Still...
Page 135 - Unless good Sense preserve what Beauty gains : That Men may say, when we the Front-box grace, Behold the first in Virtue as in Face...
Page 136 - And trust me, dear ! good-humour can prevail, When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding fail. Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll ; Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
Page 130 - And screen'd in shades from day's detested glare, She sighs for ever on her pensive bed, Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head.
Page 112 - The world recedes; it disappears! Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy victory? O Death ! where is thy sting ? The Universal Prayer FATHER of all!
Page 121 - Planets through the boundless Sky. Some less refin'd, beneath the Moon's pale Light Pursue the Stars that shoot athwart the Night ; Or suck the Mists in grosser Air below, Or dip their Pinions in the painted Bow, Or brew fierce Tempests on the wintry Main, Or o'er the Glebe distil the kindly Rain.
Page 312 - TO EVENING. If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, May hope, chaste eve, to soothe thy modest ear, Like thy own solemn springs, Thy springs, and dying gales...
Page 42 - India's coast we sail, Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright; Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, Thy skin is ivory so white. Thus every beauteous object that I view, Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. Though battle call me from thy arms. Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms, William shall to his dear return. Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.