The Rosciad. The apology. Night. The prophecy of famine. An epistle to William Hogarth. The ghost |
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againſt Becauſe Behold beſt bluſh boaſt breaſt Candour caufe cauſe courſe CRAPE curfe dare deem'd difdains dull DULLMAN e'en eaſe ev'ry eyes facred fafe faid fame Fate fcorn fear feem feen fenfe fhall fhame fhew fhould fide filk fimple firſt flave fleep fmile foes folemn Folly fome Fools form'd foul ftand ftill ftir ftrain fuch Genius grace hath head heart herſelf himſelf HOGARTH honeft honour humour Int'reft Juft Juftice juſt laft lefs mighty moft moſt Mufe muft Muſe muſt Nature Nature's ne'er numbers o'er paffions Play'rs pleaſe pleaſure POMPOSO pow'r praife praiſe pride purpoſe purſue rage raiſe Reaſon Rhime rife ſcene ſeen Senfe ſhall ſhe ſkill ſpeak ſport ſtage ſtart ſtate ſtill taſte thee thefe themſelves theſe things thofe thoſe Thou thouſand thro trembling Truth turn'd uſe vile Virtue Whilft whofe Whoſe wife WILLIAM HOGARTH
Priljubljeni odlomki
Stran 92 - Stay out all night, but take especial care That PRUDENCE bring thee back to early prayer. As one with watching and with study faint, Reel in a drunkard, and reel out a saint.
Stran 13 - In one hand a wand he bore, For mighty wonders fam'd in days of yore ; The other held a globe, which to his will Obedient turn'd, and own'd the master's skill: Things of the noblest kind his genius drew, And look'd through Nature at a single view : A loose he gave to his unbounded soul, And taught new lands to rise, new seas to roll ; Call'd into being scenes unknown before, And, passing Nature's bounds, was something more.
Stran 5 - Grown old in fraud, though yet in manhood's bloom. Adopting arts by which gay villains rise And reach the heights which honest men despise, Mute at the bar, and in the senate loud, Dull 'mongst the dullest, proudest of the proud, A pert prim prater of the Northern race, Guilt in his heart and famine in his face, Stood forth ; and thrice he waved his lily hand.
Stran 20 - E'en I, whom Nature cast in hideous mould, Whom, having made, she trembled to behold, Beneath the load of mimicry may groan, And find that Nature's errors are my own.
Stran 34 - With all the native vigour of sixteen, Among the merry troop conspicuous seen, See lively Pope advance in jig, and trip Corinna, Cherry, Honeycomb, and Snip ; Not without art, but yet to Nature true, She charms the Town with humour just yet new ; Cheer'd by her promise, we the less deplore The fatal time when Clive shall be no more.
Stran 44 - We see too plainly they are not his own ; No flame from Nature ever yet he caught, Nor knew a feeling which he was not taught : He rais'd his trophies on the base of art, And conn'd his passions as he conn'd his part.
Stran 7 - Fawns in the day, and butchers in the night ; With that malignant envy which turns pale And...
Stran 36 - Wond'ring, his art we praise the more we view, And only grieve he gave not motion too. Weak of...
Stran 88 - Fearfully wise, he shakes his empty head, And deals out empires as he deals out thread. His useless scales are in a corner flung, And Europe's balance hangs upon his tongue.
Stran 40 - Pritchard's for comedy too fat and old ; " Who can, with patience, bear the gray coquette, " Or force a laugh with overgrown Julett ? " Her speech, look, action, humour, all are just, " But then her age and figure give disgust.