Compositions, المجلد 1

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الصفحة xliv - O early ripe! to thy abundant store What could advancing age have added more? It might (what Nature never gives the young) Have taught the numbers of thy native tongue. But satire needs not those, and wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.
الصفحة xxvii - FAREWELL, too little, and too lately known, Whom I began to think and call my own: For sure our souls were near allied, and thine Cast in the same poetic mould with mine.
الصفحة xxxvi - He calls forth children from the barren stock ; He, far beyond the springs of Nature led, Makes women bring forth after they are dead ; He, on a curious, new, and happy plan, In wedlock's...
الصفحة xlv - Thy generous fruits, though gathered ere their prime, Still showed a quickness ; and maturing time But mellows what we write to the dull sweets of rhyme. Once more, hail, and farewell ; farewell, thou young, But ah! too short, Marcellus of our tongue! Thy brows with ivy and with laurels bound; But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around.
الصفحة 25 - Cut-throats in godly pure sincerity, .So they with lifted hands, and eyes devout, Said grace, and carved a slaughtered monarch out. When the first traitor Cain (too good to be Thought patron of this black fraternity) His bloody tragedy of old designed, One death alone quenched his revengeful mind, Content with but a quarter of mankind : Had he been Jesuit, and but put on Their savage cruelty, the rest had gone ; His hand had sent old Adam after too, And forced the Godhead to create anew.
الصفحة 46 - O'er waves, without the help of sail or oar ; How zealous crab, the sacred image bore, And swam a catholic to the distant shore. With shams like these the giddy rout mislead, Their folly and their superstition feed. All these are allusions to the extravagant fictions in
الصفحة 25 - Give me your through-paced rogue, who scorns to be Prompted by poor revenge, or injury, But does it of true inbred cruelty ; Your cool and sober murderer, who prays And stabs at the same time, who one hand has Stretched up to Heaven, the other to make the pass.
الصفحة xix - Tis not the title, whether handed down From age to age, or flowing from the Crown : In copious streams on recent men, who came From stems unknown, and sires without a name ; 'Tis not the star, which our great Edward gave To mark the virtuous, and reward the brave, Blazing without, whilst a base heart within Is rotten to the core with filth and sin ; 'Tis not the tinsel grandeur, taught to wait, At Custom's call, to mark a fool of state From fools of lesser note, that soul can awe Whose pride is reason,...
الصفحة 92 - Such 95 our Nobles write Whofe naufeous Poetry can reach no higher Than what the Codpiece, or its God infpire. So lewd, they fpend at Quill ; you'd juftly think, They wrote with fomething naftier than Ink ; But he ftill thought, that little Wit, or none, Which a juft Modefty muft never own, And a mere Reader with a Blufh atone.
الصفحة xx - Who, in my hearing, shall a rhyme commend. It cannot be — - — whether I will or no, Such as they are, my thoughts in measure flow...

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