Memoirs of a Life, Chiefly Passed in Pennsylvania, Within the Last Sixty Years: With Occasional Remarks Upon the General Occurrences, Character and Spirit of that Eventful Period
John Wyeth, 1811 - 378 Seiten
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Seite 305 - And to be grave, exceeds all power of face. I sit with sad civility, I read With honest anguish, and an aching head; And drop at last, but in unwilling ears, This saving counsel, — 'Keep your piece nine years.
Seite 362 - Why did I write? what sin to me unknown Dipp'd me in ink, my parents', or my own? As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came. I left no calling for this idle trade, No duty broke, no father...
Seite 86 - Yet, for the benefit of the succeeding age, I could wish that your retreat might be deferred until your morals shall happily be ripened to that maturity of corruption at which the worst examples cease to be contagious.
Seite 109 - They made a halt, while the Doctor, foaming with rage and indignation, without his hat, his wig dishevelled and bloody from his wounded hand, stood up in the cart and called for a bowl of punch.
Seite 27 - Where sordid interest shows the prey. When once the poet's honour ceases, From reason far his transports rove ; And Boileau, for eight hundred pieces, Makes Louis take the wall of Jove.
Seite 333 - With a more riotous appetite. Down from the waist they are centaurs, Though women all above: But to the girdle do the gods inherit, Beneath is all the fiends; there's hell, there's darkness, there is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, stench, consumption; — Fie, fie, fie! pah; pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination: there's money for the'e.
Seite 84 - I have been wronged enough to arm my temper Against the smooth delusion; but alas ! (Chide not my weakness, gentle maid, but pity me) A woman's softness hangs about me still : Then let me blush, and tell thee all my folly. I...
Seite 303 - Things vulgar, and well weigh'd, scarce worth the praise ? They praise and they admire they know not what, And know not whom, but as one leads the other : And what delight to be by such extoll'd, To live upon their tongues and be their talk, Of whom to be disprais'd were no small praise...