The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, 9. köide

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Samuel Johnson
C. Bathurst, 1779
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Page 13 - Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours : Finds wealth where 'tis, bestows it where it wants, Cities in deserts, woods in cities plants ; So that to us no thing, no place is strange, While his fair bosom is the world's exchange.
Page 55 - Horace's wit and Virgil's state He did not steal, but emulate, And when he would like them appear, Their garb, but not their clothes, did wear ; He not from Rome alone, but Greece, Like Jason brought the golden fleece ; To him that language, though to none Of th' others, as his own was known.
Page 12 - But to be restless in a worse extreme ? And for that lethargy was there no cure But to be cast into a calenture ; Can knowledge have no bound, but...
Page 13 - But free and common as the sea or wind; When he to boast or to disperse his stores Full of the tributes of his grateful shores, Visits the world, and in his flying towers Brings home to us, and...
Page 55 - Horace's wit, and Virgil's state, He did not steal, but emulate! And when he would like them appear, •/ Their garb, but not their clothes, did wear...
Page 16 - All instruments, all arts of ruin met; He calls to mind his strength, and then his speed, His winged heels, and then his armed head; With these t' avoid, with that his fate to meet; But fear prevails and bids him trust his feet.
Page 11 - A real, or at least, a seeming good. Who fears not to do ill, yet fears the name, And, free from conscience, is a slave to fame. Thus he the church at once protects and spoils ; But princes' swords are sharper than their styles : And thus to th' ages past he makes amends, Their charity destroys, their faith defends.
Page 18 - Though prodigal of life, disdains to die By common hands; but, if he can descry Some nobler foe approach, to him he calls, And begs his fate, and then contented falls. So when the king a mortal shaft lets fly...
Page 49 - Prithee die and set me free, Or else be Kind and brisk, and gay like me; I pretend not to the wise ones, To the grave, to the grave, Or the precise ones. Tis not Cheeks, nor Lips nor Eyes, That I prize, Quick Conceits, or sharp Replies, If wise thou wilt appear, and knowing, Repartie, Repartie To what I'm doing. Prithee why the Room so dark? Not a Spark Left to light me to the mark ; I love day-light and a candle, And to see, and to see, As well as handle.
Page 11 - Th' adjoining abbey fell. (May no such storm Fall on our times, where ruin must reform!) Tell me, my Muse! what monstrous dire offence, What crime could any Christian king incense To such a rage ? Was't luxury or lust ? Was he so temperate, so chaste, so just ? Were these their crimes! they were his own much more; But wealth is crime enough to him that's poor...

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