Specimens of the British Poets: Churchill, 1764, to Johnson, 1784Thomas Campbell John Murray, 1819 |
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... LORD LYTTLETON From the Monody ROBERT FERGUSSON The Farmer's Ingle THOMAS SCOTT Government of the Mind ( from Lyric Poems ) PHILIP DORMER STANHOPE , EARL OF CHESTER- FIELD On Nash's Picture at full Length between the Busts of Sir I ...
... LORD LYTTLETON From the Monody ROBERT FERGUSSON The Farmer's Ingle THOMAS SCOTT Government of the Mind ( from Lyric Poems ) PHILIP DORMER STANHOPE , EARL OF CHESTER- FIELD On Nash's Picture at full Length between the Busts of Sir I ...
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... serve this belly - glutton , Whilst we must starve on mutton , mutton . Mrs. B. My good man , too - Lord bless us ! wives Are born to lead unhappy lives , Although his profits bring him clear Almost two hundred pounds 30 ROBERT LLOYD .
... serve this belly - glutton , Whilst we must starve on mutton , mutton . Mrs. B. My good man , too - Lord bless us ! wives Are born to lead unhappy lives , Although his profits bring him clear Almost two hundred pounds 30 ROBERT LLOYD .
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... lords to - day , In a fine painted coach and eight , And rides along in all his state . And then the queen- Mrs. S. Ay , ay , you know , Great folks can always make a show . But tell me , do - I've never seen Her present majesty , the ...
... lords to - day , In a fine painted coach and eight , And rides along in all his state . And then the queen- Mrs. S. Ay , ay , you know , Great folks can always make a show . But tell me , do - I've never seen Her present majesty , the ...
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... Lord bless me , Mrs. Brown , your hand ; And you , my dear , take hold of hers , For we must stick as close as burrs , Or in this racket , noise and pother , We certainly shall lose each other . -Good God ! my cardinal and sack Are ...
... Lord bless me , Mrs. Brown , your hand ; And you , my dear , take hold of hers , For we must stick as close as burrs , Or in this racket , noise and pother , We certainly shall lose each other . -Good God ! my cardinal and sack Are ...
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... Lord , how my husband us'd to sit , And drink success to honest Pitt , And happy o'er his evening cheer , Cry , " you shall pledge this toast , my dear . ?? Man . Hist - silence - don't you hear the D2 ROBERT LLOYD . 35.
... Lord , how my husband us'd to sit , And drink success to honest Pitt , And happy o'er his evening cheer , Cry , " you shall pledge this toast , my dear . ?? Man . Hist - silence - don't you hear the D2 ROBERT LLOYD . 35.
Términos y frases comunes
ANTISTROPHE beauty behold beneath blest bliss bloom BORN bosom brave breast breath charms dear death delight dreadful dydd e'er earth eternal Eulogius ev'ry fair fame fancy fate fear form'd frae FRANCIS FAWKES genius GEORGE ALEXANDER STEVENS grief hand hear heart Heaven honour hour JAMES GRAINGER kynge labour Lord mild ale mind MONODY mournful nature nature's night Night Thoughts numbers o'er pain pale Palemon passions PAUL WHITEHEAD peace plain pleasure poem poet poetical poetry poor pow'r praise pride rage reign RICHARD JAGO rise Rodmond round scene Selim shade shore skies sleep smile soft song soul spread swain sweet Syr Charles taste taught tears tender Thatt thee Thenne thine THOMAS CHATTERTON thou thought toil train trembling university of Edinburgh vale verse virtue wave wealth wild wings wretch wyfe wylle Wyth ynne youth
Pasajes populares
Página 280 - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs - and God has given my share I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
Página 281 - The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school ; The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
Página 278 - Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled and all thy charms withdrawn; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green: One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain: 40 No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way.
Página 286 - Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land.
Página 285 - Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple blessings of the lowly train, To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art : Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway ; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined.
Página 189 - Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare ; Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : Close by the regal chair Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray, Lance to lance, and horse to horse? Long years of havoc urge their destined course, And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way.
Página 288 - And pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town, She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
Página 284 - A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew : Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face ; Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; Full well the busy whisper circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned.
Página 282 - His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid...
Página 186 - On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood ; (Loose his beard and hoary hair, Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air,) And with a master's hand and prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre...