Satires and Epistles |
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Page 5
... Roman original . It may be said to be a perfect translation , the persons and things being transferred as well as the words . All translation from an ancient into a modern language involves some modernisation of the idea . It is the ...
... Roman original . It may be said to be a perfect translation , the persons and things being transferred as well as the words . All translation from an ancient into a modern language involves some modernisation of the idea . It is the ...
Page 61
... Romans depended for the encrease of an absolute empire . But to make the poem entirely English , I was willing to add one or two of those which con- tribute to the happiness of a free people , and are more consistent with the welfare of ...
... Romans depended for the encrease of an absolute empire . But to make the poem entirely English , I was willing to add one or two of those which con- tribute to the happiness of a free people , and are more consistent with the welfare of ...
Page 63
... Roman fame : Whose word is truth , as sacred and rever'd , As heav'n's own oracles from altars heard . Wonder of Kings ! like whom , to mortal eyes None e'er has risen , and none e'er shall rise . Just in one instance , be it yet ...
... Roman fame : Whose word is truth , as sacred and rever'd , As heav'n's own oracles from altars heard . Wonder of Kings ! like whom , to mortal eyes None e'er has risen , and none e'er shall rise . Just in one instance , be it yet ...
Page 65
... Roman feet : Milton's strong pinion now not heav'n can bound , Now serpent - like in prose he sweeps the ground , In quibbles angel and archangel join , And God the Father turns a school - divine . Not that I'd lop the beauties from his ...
... Roman feet : Milton's strong pinion now not heav'n can bound , Now serpent - like in prose he sweeps the ground , In quibbles angel and archangel join , And God the Father turns a school - divine . Not that I'd lop the beauties from his ...
Page 87
... Romans , in much better metre , ' To laugh at fools who put their trust in Peter . ' 10 But Horace , sir , was delicate , was nice ; Bubo observes , he lash'd no sort of vice : Horace would say , Sir Billy serv'd the Crown , Blunt could ...
... Romans , in much better metre , ' To laugh at fools who put their trust in Peter . ' 10 But Horace , sir , was delicate , was nice ; Bubo observes , he lash'd no sort of vice : Horace would say , Sir Billy serv'd the Crown , Blunt could ...
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Popular passages
Page 30 - Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer ; Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike...
Page 33 - 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 30 - 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...
Page 52 - Who counsels best ? who whispers, ' Be but great, With praise or infamy leave that to fate; Get place and wealth, if possible, with grace ; If not, by any means get wealth and place.
Page 145 - I remember the players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never blotted out a line. My answer hath been, "Would he ' had blotted a thousand," which they thought a malevolent speech.
Page 27 - Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed, 'Just so immortal Maro held his head'; And, when I die, be sure you let me know Great Homer died three thousand years ago. Why did I write? what sin to me unknown Dipp'd me in ink, my parents', or my own?
Page 144 - whispers through the trees": If crystal streams "with pleasing murmurs creep," The reader's threaten'd (not in vain) with "sleep": Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.
Page 29 - Pretty! in amber to observe the forms Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they got there.
Page 28 - Commas and points they set exactly right, And 'twere a sin to rob them of their mite.
Page 64 - Who now reads Cowley ? if he pleases yet, His moral pleases, not his pointed wit ; Forgot his epic, nay Pindaric art, But still I love the language of his heart.