The Works of Alexander Pope, Esq: Satires. On receiving from the Right Honourable the Lady Frances Shirley, a standish and two pens. A fragment of an unpublished satire of Pope intitled One thousand seven hundred and forty. The plan of an epic poem, to have been written in blank verse, and intitled Brutus. Preface to Homer's Iliad. Postscript to the Odyssey
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Page 11 - I said; Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. The Dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt, All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out: Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, They rave, recite, and madden round the land.
Page 12 - They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide. By land, by water, they renew the charge; They stop the chariot, and they board the barge.
Page 217 - Nassau to Kneller's hand decreed To fix him graceful on the bounding Steed; So well in paint and stone they judg'd of merit: But Kings in Wit may want discerning spirit.
Page 311 - Seen him, uncumber'd with the venal tribe, Smile without art, and win without a bribe. Would he oblige me? let me only find, He does not think me what he thinks mankind. Come, come, at all I laugh he laughs, no doubt; The only difference is, I dare laugh out.
Page 354 - Ask you what provocation I have had? The strong antipathy of good to bad. When truth or virtue an affront endures, Th' affront is mine, my friend, and should be yours.
Page 21 - I HAVE observed, that a reader seldom peruses a book with pleasure, till he knows whether the writer of it be a black or a fair man, of a mild or choleric disposition, married or a bachelor, with other particulars of the like nature, that conduce very much to the right understanding of an author.
Page 93 - 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. And HE, whose Lightning pierc'd th...
Page 219 - Besides, a fate attends on all I write, That when I aim at praise they say I bite. A vile encomium doubly ridicules : There's nothing blackens like the ink of fools. If true, a woful likeness ; and, if lies, ' Praise undeserv'd is scandal in disguise.
Page 9 - Me, let the tender office long engage, To rock the cradle of reposing age, With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death, Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep a while one parent from the sky...