Satires and Epistles |
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Page 28
... ne'er one sprig of laurel grac'd these ribalds , From slashing Bentley down to pidling Tibalds : 140 150 160 Each wight , who reads not , and but scans 28 PROLOGUE.
... ne'er one sprig of laurel grac'd these ribalds , From slashing Bentley down to pidling Tibalds : 140 150 160 Each wight , who reads not , and but scans 28 PROLOGUE.
Page 30
... ne'er oblig'd ; Like Cato , give his little senate laws , And sit attentive to his own applause ; While wits and Templars ev'ry sentence raise , And wonder with a foolish face of praise— Who but must laugh , if such a man there be ? Who ...
... ne'er oblig'd ; Like Cato , give his little senate laws , And sit attentive to his own applause ; While wits and Templars ev'ry sentence raise , And wonder with a foolish face of praise— Who but must laugh , if such a man there be ? Who ...
Page 33
... 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 ...
... 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 ...
Page 40
... er offends , at some unlucky time Slides into verse , and hitches in a rhyme , Sacred to ridicule his whole life long , And the sad burthen of some merry song . Slander or poison dread from Delia's ... ne'er be 40 SATIRES AND EPISTLES . 1 .
... er offends , at some unlucky time Slides into verse , and hitches in a rhyme , Sacred to ridicule his whole life long , And the sad burthen of some merry song . Slander or poison dread from Delia's ... ne'er be 40 SATIRES AND EPISTLES . 1 .
Page 41
Alexander Pope Mark Pattison. F. Alas young man ! your days can ne'er be long , In flow'r of age you perish for a song ! Plums and directors , Shylock and his wife , Will club their testers , now , to take your life ! P. What ? arm'd for ...
Alexander Pope Mark Pattison. F. Alas young man ! your days can ne'er be long , In flow'r of age you perish for a song ! Plums and directors , Shylock and his wife , Will club their testers , now , to take your life ! P. What ? arm'd for ...
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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.