The Works of the English Poets: Swift

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H. Hughs, 1779

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Page 20 - Madam, I die without your grace"— « Item, for half a yard of lace." Who that had wit would place it here, For every peeping fop to jeer ? In power of fpittle and a clout, Whene'er he pleafe, to blot it out; And then, to heighten the difgrace, Clap his own nonfenfe in the place. Whoe'er
Page 49 - to the top> As if they ne'er had touch'da drop. The good old couple were amaz'd, 35 And often on each other gaz'd ; For both were frighten'd to the heart, And juft began to cry, — What art! Then foftly turn'd afide to view Whether the lights were burning blue.
Page 92 - From Pope, from Parnell, or from Gay ?" Such tattle often entertains • 95 My lord and me as far as Staines, As once a week we travel down To Windfor, and again to town, Where all that pafles inter
Page 89 - clear, •*• For life, fix hundred pounds a-year, A handfome houfe to lodge a friend,. A river at my garden's end, A terrace-walk, and half a rood £: Of land fet out to plant a Wood. Well, now I have all this and more, I afk not to increafe my
Page 334 - afliam'd to ufe a glafs; And till I fee them with thefe eyes, •» ' Whoever fays you have them, lies. No length of time can make you quit Honour and virtue, fenfe and wit : Thus you may ftill be young to me, While I can better bear than fee. Oh, ne'er may Fortune
Page 159 - Tis never by invention got, Men have it when they know it not. Our converfation to refine, Humour and wit muft both combine : From both we learn to railly well, Wherein fometimes the French excel. Voiture, in various lights, difplays That irony which turns to praife : His genius firft
Page 25 - Truly, fays he, Mrs. Nab, it might become you to be more civil; If your money be gone, as a learned divine fays, d'ye fee, You .are no text for my handling ; fo take that from me : I was never taken for a conjurer before, I'd have you to know.
Page 170 - you live to fee the day When Stella's locks muft all be grey. When age muft print a furrow'd trace On every feature of her face ; Though you, and all your fenfelefs tribe, Could art, or time, or nature bribe, To make you look like Beauty's
Page 51 - which it cannot turn. The groaning-chair began to crawl, •85 Like a huge fnail, along the wall; There ftuck aloft in public view, And, with fmall change, a pulpit grew. The porringers, that in a row Hung high, and made a glittering
Page 95 - the Queen A dangerous treatife J writ againft the fpleen; Which, by the ftyle, the matter, and the drift, 'Tis thought could be the work of none but Swift. Poor York ! the harmlefs tool of others hate j He fues for pardon ||, and repents too late. Now,

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