The New Foundling Hospital for Wit: Being a Collection of Fugitive Pieces, in Prose and Verse, Not in Any Other Collection. With Several Pieces Never Before Published, Volume 3

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John Almon
J. Debrett, 1786

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Page 196 - In forest, brake or den, As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude ; Men who their duties know, But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain, Prevent the long-aimed blow, And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain ; These constitute a State; And sovereign law, that State's collected will, O'er thrones and globes elate Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill.
Page 73 - V. Health at your call extends her wing, Each healing plant, each friendly fpring, Its various pow'r difclofes, O'er Death's approaches you prevail, See Chloe's cheek, of late fo pale, Blooms with returning rofes. VI. Thefe gifts, my friends, which fhine in you, . Are rare, yet to fome chofen few Heav'n has the fame affign'd ; Health waits on Mead's prefcription ftill, And Hawkins' hand, and Ranby's fkill, Are bleffings to mankind.
Page 214 - Twas then, O Solitude, to thee His early vows were paid, From heart sincere, and warm, and free, Devoted to the shade. Ah why did Fate his steps decoy In stormy paths to roam, Remote from all congenial joy ! O take the Wanderer home.
Page 77 - Sir Thomas Stapleton, Paul Whitehead, Mr. Wilkes, and other gentlemen to the number of twelve, rented the Abbey, and often retired there in the fummer. Among other amufements they had...
Page 215 - And balmy from the bank of flowers The Zephyr breathes along ; Let no rude sound invade from far, No vagrant foot be nigh, No ray from Grandeur's gilded car Flash on the startled eye.
Page 215 - But if some pilgrim through the glade Thy hallow'd bowers explore, O guard from harm his hoary head, And listen to his lore ; For he of joys divine shall tell That wean from earthly woe, And triumph o'er the mighty spell That chains this heart below.
Page 91 - And that there might remain to posterity a monument of this city's affection to the man who, by the strength of his genius, the steadiness of...
Page 213 - To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms Ne'er drew Ambition's eye, Scap'da tumultuous world's alarms, To your retreats I fly. Deep in your most sequester'd bower Let me at last recline, Where Solitude, mild, modest Power, Leans on her ivy'd shrine.
Page 72 - Confuming fevers rage no more, Nor chilling agues freeze ; The cripple dances void of pain, The deaf in raptures hear again, The blind tranfported fees, V.
Page 217 - twill fparkle and rife, Be as foft as your lips, and as bright as your eyes. Laft, bottle it up ; and, believe...

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