The works of Alexander Pope. Containing the principal notes of drs. Warburton and Warton [&c.]. To which are added, some original letters, with additional observations, and memoirs, by W.L. Bowles, 2. köide
Other editions - View all
appears arms bear beauty bright called character charms Chaucer court daughter dear death divine Eteocles ev'ry excellent eyes face faid fair fame fate father fays fhade fhall fide fight fire firſt flame fome foul ftill fuch gentle give grace hand heart heav'n himſelf honour IMITATIONS Italy joys kind King Lady late learning leave letter lies light lines live loft Lord manner mind moſt muſt nature never night NOTES o'er once original poem poet Pope Pope's rage rife ſhe ſhould ſtill tears tell thee thefe theſe thing thofe thoſe thou thought tranflation trees turns verfes virtue WARTON whofe whole wife write youth
Page 417 - A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate, Whom Heaven kept sacred from the Proud and Great : Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease, Content with science in the vale of peace. Calmly he look'd on either life ; and here Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear ; From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfied, Thank'd Heaven that he had liv'd, and that he died.
Page 53 - And smooth my passage to the realms of day; See my lips tremble, and my eyeballs roll, Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul! Ah no — in sacred vestments may'st thou stand, The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand, Present the Cross before my lifted eye, Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
Page 418 - Of manners gentle, of affections mild ; In wit, a man ; simplicity, a child ; With native humour temp'ring virtuous rage, Form'd to delight at once and lash the age ; Above temptation, in a low estate ; And uncorrupted...
Page 44 - Sad proof how well a lover can obey ! Death, only death, can break the lasting chain ; And here ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain, Here all its frailties, all its flames resign, And wait, till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.
Page 52 - Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay, And smooth my passage to the realms of day; See my lips tremble, and my eyeballs roll, Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul! Ah no — in sacred vestments mayst thou stand...
Page 100 - world, nor in broad rumour lies, ^But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes, And perfect...
Page 39 - em all: Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove; No, make me mistress to the man I love; If there be yet another name more free, More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
Page 333 - ... twixt reading and Bohea, To muse, and spill her solitary Tea, Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon, Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon; Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire, Hum half a tune, tell stories to the squire; Up to her godly garret after sev'n, There starve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n.
Page 427 - Yet softer honours, and less noisy fame, Attend the shade of gentle Buckingham : In whom a race, for courage fam'd and art, Ends in the milder merit of the heart : And, chiefs or sages long to Britain given, Pays the last tribute of a saint to Heaven.
Page 33 - Contemplation dwells, And ever-musing Melancholy reigns, What means this tumult in a vestal's veins ? Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat ? Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat ? Yet, yet I love ! — From Abelard it came, And Eloi'sa yet must kiss the name.