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Seite 270 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds : Your heads must come To the cold tomb ; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet,...
Seite 269 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Seite 184 - tis all a cheat ; Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit ; Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay : To-morrow's falser than the former day ; Lies worse, and, while it says we shall be blest With some new joys, cuts off what we possessed.
Seite 373 - Tis resolved, for Nature pleads that he " Should only rule who most resembles me. " Shadwell alone my perfect image bears, " Mature in dulness from his tender years ; " Shadwell alone of all my sons is he " Who stands confirmed in full stupidity. " The rest to some faint meaning make pretence, " But Shadwell never deviates into sense.
Seite 254 - Ohy woman! lovely woman! nature made thee .To temper man : we had been brutes without you. Angels are painted fair, to look like you : There's in you all that we believe of Heaven, Amazing brightness, purity, and truth, Eternal joy, and everlasting love.
Seite 261 - Doeg, though without knowing how or why, Made still a blundering kind of melody; Spurred boldly on, and dashed through thick and thin Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in: Free from all meaning, whether good or bad, And, in one word, heroically mad, He was too warm on picking-work to dwell, But faggoted his notions as they fell, And, if they rhymed and rattled, all was well.
Seite 381 - What passion cannot Music raise and quell ? When Jubal struck the chorded shell His listening brethren stood around. And, wondering, on their faces fell To worship that celestial sound. Less than a God they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell That spoke so sweetly and so wel1.
Seite 241 - Ibs. of tallow : now, all things civil, no rudeness anywhere ; then, as in a bear-garden : then, two or three fiddlers ; now, nine or ten of the best : then, nothing but rushes upon the ground, and every thing else mean ; now, all otherwise...
Seite 113 - HARRY, whose tuneful and well-measured song First taught our English music how to span Words with just note and accent, not to scan With Midas' ears, committing short and long, Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng, With praise enough for Envy to look wan : To after age thou shalt be writ the man That with smooth air couldst humour best our tongue. Thou honour'st verse, and verse must lend her wing To honour thee, the priest of Phoebus' quire, That tun'st their happiest lines in hymn or...
Seite 333 - Following his Majesty this morning through the gallery, I went with the few who attended him, into the Duchess of Portsmouth's dressing-room within her bed-chamber, where she was in her morning loose garment, her maids combing her, newly out of her bed, his Majesty and the gallants standing about her...