Poems on various subjects, chiefly theatrical. To which is prefixed, a life of the author


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Seite 57 - I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.
Seite 99 - But is it not some reproach upon the economy of Providence that such a one, who is a mean dirty fellow, should have amassed wealth enough to buy half a nation?" Not in the least. He made himself a mean dirty fellow for that very end. He has paid his health, his conscience, his liberty for it; and will you envy him his bargain?
Seite 44 - Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Seite 99 - What reward! A large comprehensive soul, well purged from vulgar fears, and perturbations, and prejudices; able to comprehend and interpret the works of man — of God. A rich, flourishing, cultivated mind, pregnant with inexhaustible stores of entertainment and reflection. A perpetual spring of fresh ideas; and the conscious dignity of superior intelligence.
Seite 104 - ... as an imaginary distinction, unless accompanied with the practice of those generous virtues by which it ought to be obtained.
Seite 105 - The chief advantage that ancient writers can boast over modern ones, seems owing to simplicity. Every noble truth and sentiment was expressed by the former in the natural manner ; in word and phrase, simple, perspicuous, and incapable of improvement. What then remained for later writers but affectation, witticism, and conceit I IX.
Seite 26 - Tis now the dead of night, and half the world Is in a lonely solemn darkness hung; Yet I, (so coy a dame is sleep to me) With all the weary courtship of My...
Seite 106 - As to be perfectly just is an attribute of the Divine Nature, to be so to the utmost of our abilities is the glory of a man.
Seite 45 - Tis a poor skill, which ev'ry fool can reach, A vile stage-custom, honour 'd in the breach. Worse as more close, the disingenuous art But shews the wanton looseness of the heart. When I behold a wretch, of talents mean, Drag private foibles on the public scene, Forsaking nature's fair and open road To mark some whim, some...
Seite 51 - What is the constant and just observation as to all actors upon the stage ? Is it not, that those who have the best sense always speak the best, though they may happen not to have the best voices ? They will speak plainly, distinctly, and with the proper emphasis, be their voices ever so bad.

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