The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, 42. köide

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Samuel Johnson
C. Bathurst, 1779
 

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Page 69 - He rais'd his head with whining moan, And thus was heard the feeble tone : ' Ah ! sons ! from evil ways depart ; My crimes lie heavy on my heart. See, see the murder'd geese appear ! Why are those bleeding turkeys there ? Why all around this cackling train, Who haunt my ears for chicken slain?
Page 88 - Spare your comparisons,' replied An angry rose, who grew beside. 'Of all mankind, you should not flout us; What can a poet do without us! In every love-song roses bloom; We lend you colour and perfume. Does it to Chloe's charms conduce, To found her praise on our abuse? Must we, to flatter her, be made To wither, envy, pine and fade?
Page 74 - Dame, (quoth the Raven) spare your oaths, Unclench your fist, and wipe your clothes. But why on me those curses thrown ? Goody, the fault was all your own ; For had you laid this brittle ware On Dun, the old sure-footed mare, Though all the Ravens of the Hundred, With croaking had your tongue out-thunder'd, Sure-footed Dun had kept her legs, And you, good Woman, sav'd your eggs.
Page 27 - Hence grew my settled hate to vice. " The daily labours of the bee Awake my soul to industry : Who can observe the careful ant, And not provide for future want ? My dog (the trustiest of his kind) With gratitude inflames my mind : I mark his true, his faithful way, And in my service copy Tray.
Page 96 - Tis thus in friendship : who depend On many, rarely find a friend. A Hare, who in a civil way Complied with everything, like GAY, Was known by all the bestial train, Who haunt the wood or graze the plain. Her care was never to offend, And every creature was her friend.
Page 28 - And from the most minute and mean, A virtuous mind can morals glean. Thy fame is just, the sage replies ; Thy virtue proves thee truly wise.
Page 35 - While I, with weary step and slow, O'er plains and vales, and mountains go. The morning sees my chase begun, Nor ends it till the setting sun.
Page 73 - I'll read my fable. .Betwixt her swagging pannier's load A FARMER'S WIFE to market rode, And, jogging on, with thoughtful care Summ'd up the profits of her ware ; When, starting from her silver dream, Thus far and wide was heard her scream : — That RAVEN on yon left-hand oak (Curse on his ill-betiding croak !) Bodes me no good.
Page 52 - Lord, the spirit there Might well a Raphael's hand require, To give them all the native fire. The features, fraught with sense and wit, You'll grant are very hard to hit; But yet with patience you shall view As much as paint and art can do." "Observe the work!" My Lord replied, "Till now I thought my mouth was wide; Besides, my nose is somewhat long: Dear Sir, for me, 'tis far too young.
Page 37 - I grant, an ancient Ram replies, We bear no terror in our eyes ; Yet think us not of soul so tame, Which no repeated wrongs inflame ; Insensible of ev'ry ill, Because we want thy tusks to kill.

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