The Modern Dunciad: Virgil in London and Other PoemsPickering, 1835 - 342ÆäÀÌÁö |
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15 ÆäÀÌÁö
... fate hath sent us Fools enough at home ; Our modern Poets , bounteous in th ' extreme , Rhyme on , and make waste paper by the ream . Five thousand Lines compos'd - a modest stint ! Next Westall must design , and Bulmer print : Then ...
... fate hath sent us Fools enough at home ; Our modern Poets , bounteous in th ' extreme , Rhyme on , and make waste paper by the ream . Five thousand Lines compos'd - a modest stint ! Next Westall must design , and Bulmer print : Then ...
28 ÆäÀÌÁö
... fates condemn thee for thy crimes , ( For thou to sense art traitor in thy rhymes , ) For paper wasted , ink so idly spilt , Yet kindly bid thee choose what death thou wilt ; Think , think on Clarence , he ( a bold design ! ) Resolv'd ...
... fates condemn thee for thy crimes , ( For thou to sense art traitor in thy rhymes , ) For paper wasted , ink so idly spilt , Yet kindly bid thee choose what death thou wilt ; Think , think on Clarence , he ( a bold design ! ) Resolv'd ...
31 ÆäÀÌÁö
... four pair of stairs . It was not until the appearance of " My Pocket Book , " that the publick were completely let into the secret of Sir John's art of Book - making . Consign'd the Quartos to a different fate , And eas'd.
... four pair of stairs . It was not until the appearance of " My Pocket Book , " that the publick were completely let into the secret of Sir John's art of Book - making . Consign'd the Quartos to a different fate , And eas'd.
32 ÆäÀÌÁö
... fate , And eas'd his counter of their pond'rous weight ; To pastry - cooks dispers'd them , sheet by sheet , By which Sir John was read in every street ; Propitiation just , by all confest , For martyr'd truth , and history made a jest ...
... fate , And eas'd his counter of their pond'rous weight ; To pastry - cooks dispers'd them , sheet by sheet , By which Sir John was read in every street ; Propitiation just , by all confest , For martyr'd truth , and history made a jest ...
43 ÆäÀÌÁö
... fate of the author of " Douglas , " Fergusson , & c . ) to starve her poets . Who was the liberal patron of Sir Walter Scott ? England ! Who ruined him ? His kind countrymen , the Scotch ! The Sab- ' Twas theirs to shun the poet's ...
... fate of the author of " Douglas , " Fergusson , & c . ) to starve her poets . Who was the liberal patron of Sir Walter Scott ? England ! Who ruined him ? His kind countrymen , the Scotch ! The Sab- ' Twas theirs to shun the poet's ...
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admire applause bard beautiful behold Ben Jonson blest breath bright character charm comedy court critics death delight divine dull dulness dunce ECLOGUE ev'ry fair fairy fame fate fears feel fond fool fustian genius give glorious glory grace grave Hail hast hath hear heart Heav'n hope humour immortal John Gwilliam Jonson King Lady Lady Morgan len Reynolds live Lord lov'd Lucretius lyre merry Midsummer Night's Dream mind MODERN DUNCIAD MONODY mourn Muse ne'er never night numbers o'er once passion play poet poet's Poetaster pow'r praise pride Prince prose racter rage rhyme rogue sacred Satire scene Shakespeare shame Silent Woman Sir Huon Sir Walter Scott smile soft song sorrow soul spirit strain sublime sung sweet taste tear thee thine thou tomb town truth Twas verse vice Virgil virtue youth
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98 ÆäÀÌÁö - A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver. There would this monster make a man. Any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian.
89 ÆäÀÌÁö - While round the armed bands Did clap their bloody hands. He nothing common did or mean Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try; Nor call'd the Gods, with vulgar spite, To vindicate his helpless right ; But bow'd his comely head Down, as upon a bed.
62 ÆäÀÌÁö - The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose : And on old Hyems' chin and icy crown, An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set.
62 ÆäÀÌÁö - But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn, Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.
119 ÆäÀÌÁö - This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year: Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! This can unlock the gates of Joy; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
117 ÆäÀÌÁö - In saffron robe, with taper clear, And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry; Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream.
118 ÆäÀÌÁö - That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
91 ÆäÀÌÁö - That place, that does Contain my books, the best companions, is To me a glorious court, where hourly I Converse with the old sages and philosophers ; And sometimes for variety I confer With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels ; Calling their victories, if unjustly got, Unto a strict account ; and in my fancy, Deface their ill-placed statues.
335 ÆäÀÌÁö - Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, A task well suited to thy gentle mind ? Oh ! if sometimes thy spotless form descend, To me thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend ! When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart ; Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
54 ÆäÀÌÁö - There's not a wretch that lives on common charity But's happier than me : For I have known The luscious sweets of plenty; every night Have slept with soft content about my head, And never wak'd but to a joyful morning ; Yet now must fall like a full ear of corn, Whose blossom 'scap'd, yet's wither'd in the ripening.