The British poets, including translations, àÅèÁ·Õè 42C. Whittingham, 1822 |
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abused admire Æneid ancient bard Bavius Behold bless'd booksellers called character Charles Gildon Cibber Concanen court cried Curl Daily Journal declare Dennis divine Dryden dull Dulness dunce Dunciad e'en epic EPISTLE Eridanus Essay on Criticism eyes fame folly fool genius Gildon goddess grace Gulliveriana hath head hero Homer honour Horace Iliad IMITATIONS James Moore JOHN DENNIS JOHN OZELL king knave labour learned Leonard Welsted Letter Lewis Theobald libels live Lord Lord Bolingbroke MIST'S JOURNAL moral Muse never o'er octavo Oldmixon once Ovid person pleased poem poet poet's poetry Pope Pope's praise Preface printed prose queen REMARKS rhyme saith satire Scriblerus Shakspeare sing sons soul sure Swift thee Theobald thine things thou throne translation truth verse VIRG Virgil virtue Whig wings words writ write youth
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˹éÒ 230 - O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream My great example, as it is my theme! Though deep, yet clear, though gentle, yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'er-flowing full.
˹éÒ 210 - Here strip, my children! here at once leap in, Here prove who best can dash through thick and thin, And who the most in love of dirt excel, Or dark dexterity of groping well.
˹éÒ 53 - Indebted to no prince or peer alive, Sure I should want the care of ten Monroes,* 70 If I would scribble rather than repose. Years following years, steal something every day; At last they steal us from ourselves away ; In one our frolics, one amusements end, In one a mistress drops, in one a friend...
˹éÒ 47 - But fill their purse, our poets' work is done, Alike to them by pathos or by pun. O, you ! whom vanity's light bark conveys On fame's mad voyage, by the wind of praise, With what a shifting gale your course you ply, For ever sunk too low, or borne too high ! Who pants for glory finds but short repose ; 300 A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows.
˹éÒ 264 - Fancy's gilded clouds decay, And all its varying Rain-bows die away. Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. As one by one, at dread Medea's strain, The sick'ning stars fade off th' ethereal plain ; As Argus
˹éÒ 197 - O'er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare, With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way, And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies.
˹éÒ 250 - For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it, And write about it, Goddess, and about it: So spins the silk-worm small its slender store, And labours till it clouds itself all o'er.
˹éÒ 150 - He was not without hopes, that, by manifesting the dulness of those who had only malice to recommend them, either the booksellers would not find their account in employing them, or the men themselves, when discovered, want courage to proceed in so unlawful an occupation. This it was that gave birth to the
˹éÒ 30 - NOT to admire, is all the art I know, To make men happy, and to keep them so.' Plain truth, dear Murray, needs no flowers of speech, So take it in the very words of Creech.
˹éÒ 40 - Who now reads Cowley ? if he pleases yet, His moral pleases, not his pointed wit; Forgot his Epic, nay Pindaric art, But still I love the language of his heart.