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Page 106 - The King to Oxford sent a troop of horse, For Tories own no argument but force ; With equal skill to Cambridge books he sent, For Whigs admit no force but argument.
Page 63 - As an actor, confess'd without rival to shine; As a wit, if not first, in the very first line; Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart, The man had his failings — a dupe to his art. Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread, And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural red. On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting; 'Twas only that when he was off he was acting.
Page 4 - Old Jacob, by deep judgment swayed, To please the wise beholders, Has placed old Nassau's hook-nosed head On poor ./Eneas
Page 133 - Sea-piece, in two odes. Young enjoys the credit of what is called an Extempore Epigram on Voltaire ; who, when he was in England, ridiculed, in the company of the jealous English poet, Milton's allegory of Sin and Death : You are so witty, profligate, and thin, At once we think thee Milton, Death, and Sin.
Page 63 - Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick If they were not his own by finessing and trick ; He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack, For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back. Of praise a mere glutton, he swallowed what came, And the puff of a dunce, he mistook it for fame, Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease, Who peppered the highest, was surest to please.
Page 3 - Here lies our Sovereign Lord the King, Whose word no man relies on ; Who never said a foolish thing, And never did a wise one.
Page 106 - The King, observing with judicious eyes, The state of both his universities, To Oxford sent a troop of horse ; and why ? That learned body wanted loyalty : To Cambridge books he sent, as well discerning How much that loyal body wanted learning.
Page 283 - Flavia the least and slightest toy Can with resistless art employ. This Fan in meaner hands would prove An engine of small force in love ; But she, with such an air and mien, Not to be told or safely seen, Directs its wanton motions so, That it wounds more than Cupid's bow ; Gives coolness to the matchless dame, To every other breast a flame.