The British Martial: Or, An Anthology of English Epigrams: Being the Largest Collection Ever Published. With Some Originals, Band 1

R. Phillips, 1806

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Seite 3 - ON A GIRDLE THAT which her slender waist confined Shall now my joyful temples bind : No monarch but would give his crown His arms might do what this has done. It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer : My joy, my grief, my hope, my love Did all within this circle move. A narrow compass ! and yet there Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair : Give me but what this ribband bound, Take all the rest the Sun goes round.
Seite 120 - THREE Poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed; The next in majesty •, In both the last. The force of Nature could no further go ; To make a third, she joined the former two.
Seite 16 - Yes, she has one, I must aver; When all the world conspires to praise her, The woman's deaf, and does not hear.
Seite 56 - And yet the tender fool's in tears, When she believes I'll leave her : Would I were free from this restraint, Or else had hopes to win her : Would she could make of me a saint, Or I of her a sinner !" What a conquering air there is about these ! What an irresistible Mr.
Seite 220 - As those we love decay, we die in part, String after string is sever'd from the heart ; Till loosen'd life at last — but breathing clay, Without one pang, is glad to fall away. Unhappy he who latest feels the blow, Whose eyes have wept o'er every friend laid low, Dragg'd lingering on from partial death to death, Till dying, all he can resign is breath.
Seite 230 - See ! see, she wakes — Sabina wakes ! And now the sun begins to rise ? Less glorious is the morn, that breaks From his bright beams, than her fair eyes. With light united, day they give ; But different fates ere night fulfil : How many by his warmth will live ! How many will her coldness kill !
Seite 15 - In vain, poor sable son of woe, Thou seek'st the tender tear ; From thee in vain with pangs they flow, For mercy dwells not here. From cannibals thou fled'st in vain ; Lawyers less quarter give ; The first won't eat you till you're slain, The last will do't alive.
Seite 38 - FALSE though She be to me and Love; I'll ne'er pursue revenge! For still the Charmer I approve; Though I deplore her change! In hours of bliss, we oft have met; They could not always last! And though the present I regret; I'm grateful for the past!
Seite 42 - I'll tell the signs by which you may The wandering shepherdess discover. " Coquet and coy at once her air, Both studied, though both seem neglected; Careless she is with artful care, Affecting to seem unaffected. " With skill her eyes dart every glance, Yet change so soon you'd ne'er suspect them ; For she'd persuade they wound by chance.
Seite 229 - While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive, No generous patron would a dinner give ; See him, when starved to death and turn'd to dust, Presented with a monumental bust. The poet's fate is here in emblem shown, He ask'd for bread, and he received a stone.

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