The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, 10. köide
H. Hughs, 1779
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The Works of the English Poets; With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical
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admire appear arms bear beauty blood breaſt bright cares charms command court dare death delight divine dull earth eyes face facred fair fall fame fatal fate fear fhall fhould fight fire firſt flame flave flow fome fond fools force foul ftill fuch give grace grow hand happy hear heart heaven honour hope joys keep kind labour laft leave light live loft looks maid mind moſt mourn move Mufe muſt Nature never night o'er paffion pains pleaſe pleaſure poet poor praiſe pride prove race rage rife rule ſhall ſhe ſtill tears thee theſe things thofe thoſe thou thought town triumph true truth turn vain virtues voice Whilft Whofe Whoſe wife winds womb wretched write young youth
Page 249 - Let not those agonies be vain. Thou whom avenging powers obey, Cancel my debt (too great to pay) Before the sad accounting day.
Page 294 - Like transitory dreams given o'er, Whose images are kept in store By memory alone. The time that is to come is not; How can it then be mine? The present moment's all my lot; And that, as fast as it is got, Phillis, is only thine.
Page 335 - ... deny'd ? And may not I have leave impartially To search and censure Dryden's works, and try If those gross faults his choice pen doth commit Proceed from want of judgment, or of wit ? Or if his lumpish fancy does refuse Spirit and grace to his loose slattern Muse ? Five hundred verses every morning writ, Prove him no more a poet than a wit...
Page 217 - Comment that your Care can find, Some here, some there, may hit the Poet's Mind; Yet be not blindly guided by the Throng; The Multitude is always in the Wrong.
Page 316 - ... take care Upon this point, not to be too severe. Perhaps my muse were fitter for this part, For I profess I can be very smart On wit, which I abhor with all my heart.
Page 334 - Dryden in vain tried this nice way of wit; For he, to be a tearing blade, thought fit To give the ladies a dry bawdy bob ; And thus he got the name of Poet Squab. But to be just, 'twill to his praise be found, His excellencies more than faults abound ; Nor dare I from his sacred temples tear The laurel, which he best deserves to wear.
Page 315 - Then old Age, and Experience, hand in hand, Lead him to Death, and make him understand, After a search so painful, and so long, That all his Life he has been in the wrong.
Page 292 - That tears my fixed heart from my love. When, wearied with a world of woe, To thy safe bosom I retire Where love and peace and truth does flow, May I contented there expire, Lest, once more wandering from that Heaven, I fall on some base heart unblest, Faithless to thee, false, unforgiven, And lose my everlasting rest.
Page 324 - Ere time and place were, time and place were not, When primitive Nothing something straight begot, Then all proceeded from the great united — What.
Page 213 - Tis true, composing is the nobler part, But good translation is no easy art : For tho' materials have long since been found, Yet both your fancy, and your hands are bound , And by improving what was writ before, Invention labours less, but judgment more.