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abuse appear bear cause character court cried critics dear divine Dulness Dunciad Essay eyes face fair fall fame fire fool gave gentle give goddess grace grave hand hath head hear heart Heav'n hero Homer honour IMITATIONS Journal keep kind king laws learned leave less Letter lies light live look lord manner mean mind moral Muse nature never night o'er once pass person play poem poet poor Pope praise printed published queen REMARKS rest Richard Blackmore rise round satire sense sing soft sons soul sound stand sure tell thee things thou thought town translation true truth turn verse VIRG virtue whole wife wings writ write youth
Stran 78 - With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death, Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep a while one parent from the sky...
Stran 76 - Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys: So well-bred spaniels civilly delight In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.
Stran 178 - See Mystery to Mathematics fly : In vain ! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die. Religion blushing veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires. Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine ; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine ! Lo ! thy dread empire, Chaos ! is restored ; Light dies before thy uncreating word : Thy hand, great anarch ! lets the curtain fall ; And universal darkness buries all.
Stran 67 - TWIT'NAM, and in humble strain Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain. Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the Laws, Imputes to me and my damn'd works the cause : Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope, And curses Wit, and Poetry, and Pope.
Stran 129 - True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
Stran 76 - A cherub's face, a reptile all the rest; Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust, Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.
Stran 70 - And, when I die, be sure you let me know Great Homer died three thousand years ago. Why did I write? what sin to me unknown Dipp'd me in ink, my parents', or my own? As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.
Stran 68 - I'm all submission ; what you'd have it, make it." Three things another's modest wishes bound, My friendship, and a prologue, and ten pound. Pitholeon sends to me : " You know his grace : I want a patron ; ask him for a place.
Stran 72 - Peace to all such ! but were there one whose fires True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; Blest with each talent and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live with ease : Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk...
Stran 126 - He stuck to poverty with peace of mind ; And me, the Muses help'd to undergo it ; Convict a papist he, and I a poet. But (thanks to Homer) since I live and thrive, Indebted to no prince or peer alive ; Sure I should want the care of ten Monroes,3 If I would scribble rather than repose.