Satires and Epistles |
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Page 8
... praise was equally blind , for it is bestowed on all Tories , or the Country party as they began to call themselves , without distinc- tion . The Satires were so far of external origin . They were not prompted by the ' satiric heart ...
... praise was equally blind , for it is bestowed on all Tories , or the Country party as they began to call themselves , without distinc- tion . The Satires were so far of external origin . They were not prompted by the ' satiric heart ...
Page 28
... praise , And Congreve lov'd , and Swift endur'd my lays ; The courtly Talbot , Somers , Sheffield read , Ev'n mitred Rochester would nod the head , And St. John's self , great Dryden's friends before , With open arms receiv'd one poet ...
... praise , And Congreve lov'd , and Swift endur'd my lays ; The courtly Talbot , Somers , Sheffield read , Ev'n mitred Rochester would nod the head , And St. John's self , great Dryden's friends before , With open arms receiv'd one poet ...
Page 30
... 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 ; Alike reserv'd to blame , or to commend , A tim'rous foe , and a ...
... 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 ; Alike reserv'd to blame , or to commend , A tim'rous foe , and a ...
Page 31
... praise , To some a dry rehearsal was assign'd , And others , harder still , he paid in kind . Dryden alone ( what wonder ? ) came not nigh , Dryden alone escap'd this judging eye : But still the great have kindness in reserve , He help ...
... praise , To some a dry rehearsal was assign'd , And others , harder still , he paid in kind . Dryden alone ( what wonder ? ) came not nigh , Dryden alone escap'd this judging eye : But still the great have kindness in reserve , He help ...
Page 34
... praise , That , if he pleas'd , he pleas'd by manly ways : That flatt'ry , ev'n to kings , he held a shame , And thought a lye in verse or prose the same , That not in fancy's maze he wander'd long , But stoop'd to truth , and moraliz'd ...
... praise , That , if he pleas'd , he pleas'd by manly ways : That flatt'ry , ev'n to kings , he held a shame , And thought a lye in verse or prose the same , That not in fancy's maze he wander'd long , But stoop'd to truth , and moraliz'd ...
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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.