The poetical works of Alexander Pope. With his last corrections, additions, and improvements. From the text of dr. Warburton. With the life of the author [by T. Cibber].1807 |
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Page 16
... less joy than I. O friend ! may each domestic bliss be thine ! Be no unpleasing melancholy mine : Me let the tender office long engage To rock the cradle of reposing age , 410 With lenient arts extend a mother's breath , Make languor ...
... less joy than I. O friend ! may each domestic bliss be thine ! Be no unpleasing melancholy mine : Me let the tender office long engage To rock the cradle of reposing age , 410 With lenient arts extend a mother's breath , Make languor ...
Page 17
... . For the rest , his harmony and strength of numbers , his force and splendour of colouring , his gravity and sublimity of sentiment , would have rather led him to another model . Nor was his temper less unlike that of B 3.
... . For the rest , his harmony and strength of numbers , his force and splendour of colouring , his gravity and sublimity of sentiment , would have rather led him to another model . Nor was his temper less unlike that of B 3.
Page 18
Alexander Pope. model . Nor was his temper less unlike that of Horace than his talents . What Horace would only smile at , Mr. Pope would treat with the grave severity of Persius ; and what Mr. Pope would strike with the caustic ...
Alexander Pope. model . Nor was his temper less unlike that of Horace than his talents . What Horace would only smile at , Mr. Pope would treat with the grave severity of Persius ; and what Mr. Pope would strike with the caustic ...
Page 19
... , And every friend the less lament my fate . My head and heart thus flowing through my quill , Verse - man or prose - man , term me which you will , 45 50 55 60 Papist or Protestant , or both between , Like good IMITATIONS OF HORACE . 19.
... , And every friend the less lament my fate . My head and heart thus flowing through my quill , Verse - man or prose - man , term me which you will , 45 50 55 60 Papist or Protestant , or both between , Like good IMITATIONS OF HORACE . 19.
Page 22
... the great , ( Though cut in pieces ere my lord can eat ) Yet for small turbots such esteem profess ? Because God made these large , the other less . 15 20 25 Oldfield , with more than harpy - throat endued 22 POPE'S POEMS .
... the great , ( Though cut in pieces ere my lord can eat ) Yet for small turbots such esteem profess ? Because God made these large , the other less . 15 20 25 Oldfield , with more than harpy - throat endued 22 POPE'S POEMS .
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Common terms and phrases
abuse ancient bard Bavius Behold Bless'd Charles Gildon charms Cibber court critics Curl dear Dennis divine dull Dulness dunce Dunciad Epistle Eridanus Essay Essay on Criticism ev'n eyes fame fate flame fool genius gentle Gildon glory goddess grace grave hath head hear heart Heav'n hero Homer honour Horace Iliad IMITATIONS James Moore JOHN DENNIS John Ozell Journal king knave laws learned Leonard Welsted Letter LEWIS THEOBALD live lord lov'd Matthew Concanen moral Muse ne'er never numbers o'er octavo once person pleas'd poem poet poet's poetry Pope Pope's pow'r praise pray'r printed proud queen rage REMARKS rhyme rise round sacred satire shew shine sighs sing Smil soft song soul Swift tears thee thine thing thou thought town truth verse Virgil virtue Whig wings word writ write youth
Popular passages
Page 14 - 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. Whether in florid impotence he speaks, And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks; Or at the ear of Eve, familiar toad, Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad, 320 In puns, or politics, or tales, or lies, Or spite, or smut, or rhymes,...
Page 11 - Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, And hate for arts that caused himself to rise ; Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer...
Page 107 - Statesman \ yet friend to Truth! of soul sincere, ' In action faithful, and in honour clear ; 'Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end, 'Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend ; 'Ennobled by himself, by all approv'd, 'And prais'd, unenvy'd, by the Muse he lov'd.
Page 11 - Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged, And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged; 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 load, On wings of winds came flying...
Page 118 - I weep my past offence, Now think of thee, and curse my innocence. Of all affliction taught a lover yet, 'Tis sure the hardest science to forget? How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense. And love th
Page 90 - A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire. Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years, slide soft away In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day.
Page 6 - Sabbath-day to me: Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme, Happy! to catch me just at Dinner-time.
Page 123 - As into air the purer spirits flow, 25 And sep'rate from their kindred dregs below; So flew the soul to its congenial place, Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.
Page 10 - Pretty! in amber to observe the forms Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! 170 The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they got there?
Page 116 - With other beauties charm my partial eyes, Full in my view set all the bright abode, And make my soul quit Abelard for God. Ah think at least thy flock deserves thy care, Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r.