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amuſe attempt beauties bound break brought church depend deſign deſire diſplay divine Draws dreams dreſs drive dying eaſe eyes face fair fame fancy fate feel fing firſt give grace hand happy head hear heart Hence hills hold hope hour inſpire Jove keep kind known land laſt laugh leave lies life's light look mean Meeting mend mind moſt Muſe muſt never pains paſſions pity plain play pleaſure poem pow'r preſs prove Quakers rage reaſon ring round rules ſafe ſcenes ſchemes ſee ſenſe ſhew ſhould ſkill ſome ſoul ſpirit ſpleen ſtand ſtate ſtill ſuch ſweet theſe things thoſe thought thro throw took town true truth turn uſe Whoſe wild wings wiſe
Page 27 - With airy purchafes undone Of lands, which none lend money on, Born dull, had follow'd thriving ways, Nor loft one hour to gather bays.
Page 63 - They, if one votary they find To miftrefs more divine inclin'd, In truth's purfuit to caufe delay Throw golden apples in his way. Place me, O heav'n, in fome retreat, There let the ferious death-watch beat, There let me felf in filence fhun, To feel thy will, which mould be done. Then comes the Spirit to our hut, When faft the fenfes' doors are fhut ; For fo divine and pure a gueft The emptieft rooms are furnifti'd beft.
Page 12 - With speech so sweet, so sweet a mien You excommunicate the Spleen, Which fiend-like, flies the magic ring You form with sound, when pleas'd to sing ; Whate'er you say, howe'er you move, We look, we listen, and approve.
Page 11 - And then redeem'd by loss of fame; Of Kitty (aunt left in the lurch By grave pretence to go to church...
Page 4 - Of easy access to the poor; Thy help love's confessors implore, And doctors secretly adore: To thee I fly, by thee dilute...
Page 36 - May heav'n (it's all I wish for) send One genial room to treat a friend, Where decent cup-board, little plate, Display benevolence, not state.
Page 2 - THIS motley piece to you I send, Who always were a faithful friend ; Who, if disputes should happen hence, Can best explain the author's sense ; And, anxious for the public weal, Do, what I sing, so often feel.
Page 35 - Two hundred pounds, half-yearly paid, Annuity securely made, A farm some twenty miles from town, Small, tight, salubrious, and my own: Two maids, that never saw the town, A serving-man not quite a clown, A boy to help to tread the mow...