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admire arms authors bear better breath cause charms court dead dear death divine ease Epistle ev'n ev'ry eyes face fair fame fate father fear fire fools forms fortune give gold grace half head hear heart Heav'n hold honour hundred IMITATED keep kings laugh laws lays learned leave lies live Lord lost lov'd marble mean mind morals Muse nature ne'er never o'er once peace peer play poet poor praise pride proud rage reflected rest rhyme rich rise roll round rule Satire shine smile soft song soul stand sure taste tell thee thing thou thought thro Town true truth turn verse virtue whole wife write
Page 12 - Peace to all such! but were there one whose fires True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires ; 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 18 - A cherub's face, a reptile all the rest ; Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust, Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.
Page 15 - Oh let me live my own, and die so too ! (To live and die is all I have to do :; Maintain a poet's dignity and ease, And see what friends, and read what books I please ; Above a patron, tho' I condescend Sometimes to call a minister my friend.
Page 6 - And curses wit, and poetry, and Pope. Friend to my life! (which did not you prolong, The world had wanted many an idle song) What drop or nostrum can this plague remove?
Page 17 - Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings, This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings; Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys : So well-bred spaniels civilly delight In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.
Page 32 - 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...
Page 8 - Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door, Sir, let me see your works and you no more. *Tis sung, when Midas...
Page 5 - A maudlin Poetess, a rhyming Peer, A Clerk, foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, Who pens a Stanza, when he should engross!