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appear arms Author bear beauty better cause character charms court critics dear death divine dull Dunciad edition EPIGRAM EPISTLE Essay ev'n ev'ry eyes face fair fall fame fate father fear follow fool gave give grace hand hath head hear heart Heav'n hero Homer honor IMITATIONS keep kind kings land laws learned leave less light live Lord lost manner mean mind Muse Nature never night o'er once person play Poem poet poor Pope praise pride printed proud rage REMARKS rest rise round satire sense shade shine soft soul strong sure tell thee things thou thought Town Translation true truth turns verse virtue whole wife write youth
Page 134 - Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; Willing to wound and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault and hesitate dislike...
Page 134 - Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged, And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged; Like Cato, give his little senate laws, And sit attentive to his own applause; While wits and Templars every sentence raise, And wonder with a foolish face of praise — Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he? What though my name stood rubric on the walls, Or plaster'd posts, with claps, in capitals? Or smoking forth, a hundred hawkers load, On wings of winds came flying...
Page 133 - Pretty! in amber to observe the forms Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they got there.
Page 138 - As shallow streams run dimpling all the way. Whether in florid impotence he speaks, And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks; Or at the ear of Eve, familiar toad, Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad, In puns, or politics, or tales, or lies, Or spite, or smut, or rhymes, or blasphemies.
Page 128 - Wit, and Poetry, and Pope. Friend to my Life (which did not you prolong, The world had wanted many an idle song) What Drop or Nostrum can this plague remove?
Page 38 - Who sees pale Mammon pine amidst his store, Sees but a backward steward for the poor; This year a reservoir, to keep and spare : The next, a fountain, spouting through his heir, In lavish streams to quench a country's thirst, And men and dogs shall drink him till they burst.
Page 127 - I said; Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. The Dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt, All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out: Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, They rave, recite, and madden round the land.
Page 131 - And, when I die, be sure you let me know Great Homer died three thousand years ago. Why did I write? what sin to me unknown Dipp'd me in ink, my parents', or my own?