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againſt appear Bard bear bids born bring cauſe common Country courſe Court crimes dare death doubt dull e'en earth ev'ry face fair Faith fame Fate fear feel firſt flow foes Folly Fools force gave give grace grave ground grown hand hath head heard heart himſelf hold Honour hour juſt keep King known land live Lord mean mighty mind moſt Muſe muſt Nature ne'er never night o'er once plain poor pow'r praiſe pride proud rage Reaſon reign riſe rule ſee ſeems Senſe ſhall ſhame ſhe ſhould ſide ſome ſtand ſtate ſtill ſuch taught tell thee theſe things thoſe Thou thought thro throne true Truth turn Vice Virtue voice wear Whilft whoſe worth
Page 34 - I hear, and hate — be England what she will, With all her faults, she is my country still.
Page 50 - Who ever read the REGICIDE but swore The author wrote as man ne'er wrote before? Others for plots and under-plots may call, Here's the right method — have no plot at all. Who can so often in his cause engage The tiny Pathos of the Grecian stage, Whilst horrors rise, and tears spontaneous flow At tragic Ha!
Page 109 - In itself charming, take new charms from place. Nothing of books, and little known of men, When the mad fit comes on, I seize the pen, Rough as they run, the rapid thoughts set down. Rough as they run, discharge them on the town.
Page 13 - Mark'd out her course, nor spar'da glorious fault ; The book of Man he read with nicest art, And ransack'd all the secrets of the heart, Exerted penetration's utmost force, And trac'd each...
Page 71 - Fearfully wise, he shakes his empty head, And deals out empires as he deals out thread. His useless scales are in a corner flung, And Europe's balance hangs upon his tongue.
Page 103 - Be proud with meannefsj and be mean with pride ; Deaf to the voice of Faith and Honour, fall From fide to fide, yet be of none at all ; Spurn all...
Page 35 - That sense may kindly end with ev'ry line ? Some dozen lines before the ghost is there, Behold him for the solemn scene prepare. See how he frames his eyes, poises each limb, Puts the whole body into proper trim. — From whence we learn, with no great stretch of art, Five lines hence comes a ghost, and ha ! a start.
Page 68 - NIGHT'S honest shade When pomp is buried and false colours fade, Plainly we see at that impartial hour Them dupes to pride, and him the tool of pow'r. God help the man, condemn'd by cruel fate To court the seeming, or the real great. Much sorrow shall he feel, and suffer more Than any slave who labours at the oar.