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Page 230 - 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; Alike...
Page 278 - For thee we dim the eyes, and stuff the head With all such reading as was never read : For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it, And write about it, goddess, and about it : So spins the silkworm small its slender store, And labours till it clouds itself all o'er.
Page 285 - Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults To give in evidence. What then? what rests? Try what repentance can: what can it not? Yet what can it, when one can not repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul, that struggling to be free Art more engaged! Help, angels! make assay; Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe. All may be well.
Page 306 - Freed from his keepers, thus, with broken reins, The wanton courser prances o'er the plains, Or in the pride of youth o'erleaps the mounds, And snuffs the females in forbidden grounds. Or seeks his wat'ring in the...
Page 199 - Summer's ardent strength, Thy sober Autumn fading into age, And pale concluding Winter comes at last, And shuts the scene.
Page 228 - How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee; 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!
Page 226 - I saw our friend twice after this was done, less peevish in his sickness than he used to be in his health; neither much afraid of dying, nor (which in him had been more likely) much ashamed of marrying. The evening before he expired he called his young wife to the bedside, and earnestly entreated her not to deny him one request, the last he should make.
Page 303 - O'er whose unhappy waters, void of light, No bird presumes to steer his airy flight : Such deadly stenches from the depth arise, And steaming sulphur, that infects the skies. From hence, the Grecian bards their legends make, And give the name Avernus, to the lake.
Page 214 - Where never human foot had mark'd the shore, These ruffians left me — Yet believe me, Areas, Such is the rooted love we bear mankind, All ruffians as they were, I never heard A sound so dismal as their parting oars.
Page 229 - And here give me leave to mention what Monsieur Boileau has so well enlarged upon in the preface to his works: That wit and fine writing doth not consist so much in advancing things that are new, as in giving things that are known an agreeable turn. It is...