A commonplace book of epigrams analytically arranged, Issue 426 |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 33
Page 15
... , if I could , be gay . Oh ! if you knew the pensive pleasure That fills my bosom when I sigh , You would not rob me of a treasure Monarchs are too poor to buy . TO A FRIEND . HER image , who enslaves my EPIGRAMS OLD AND NEW . 15.
... , if I could , be gay . Oh ! if you knew the pensive pleasure That fills my bosom when I sigh , You would not rob me of a treasure Monarchs are too poor to buy . TO A FRIEND . HER image , who enslaves my EPIGRAMS OLD AND NEW . 15.
Page 21
... Poor spoil that age can bear away , But leaves me yet in friendship blest . No change in friendship's star appears , Whose lustre , as in early prime , Flames in the winter of our years , Kindled by choice , and fed by time . " No more ...
... Poor spoil that age can bear away , But leaves me yet in friendship blest . No change in friendship's star appears , Whose lustre , as in early prime , Flames in the winter of our years , Kindled by choice , and fed by time . " No more ...
Page 27
... poor kiss ! I seized it , ' tis true , and I ne'er shall repent it : May he ne'er enjoy one , who shall think it amiss ; But , for me , I thank dear Cytherea who sent it . You may pout , and look prettily cross , but I pray , What ...
... poor kiss ! I seized it , ' tis true , and I ne'er shall repent it : May he ne'er enjoy one , who shall think it amiss ; But , for me , I thank dear Cytherea who sent it . You may pout , and look prettily cross , but I pray , What ...
Page 30
... poor the triumph thou hast gain'd , And very soon will it be o'er ; That bosom , where thou long hast reign'd , Shall fondly throb for thee no more . Nor vainly think my tears , my sighs , Love's still unvanquish'd power proclaim ; Each ...
... poor the triumph thou hast gain'd , And very soon will it be o'er ; That bosom , where thou long hast reign'd , Shall fondly throb for thee no more . Nor vainly think my tears , my sighs , Love's still unvanquish'd power proclaim ; Each ...
Page 44
... POOR poet Doggrel's house consumed by fire ! Is the muse pleased ? or father of the lyre ? O cruel fate ! what injury you do To burn the house , and not the master too ! -Hay . From Martial . His lordship bought his last gay birthday ...
... POOR poet Doggrel's house consumed by fire ! Is the muse pleased ? or father of the lyre ? O cruel fate ! what injury you do To burn the house , and not the master too ! -Hay . From Martial . His lordship bought his last gay birthday ...
Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
Anacreon answer'd ask'd bard Bavius beauty blest boast Boney BOOK call'd Careless CHARLES charms Chloe cried Crown 8vo dear death Dick divine doctor doubt drink earth Edition Eikon Basilike emblem EPIGRAMS EPITAPH eyes fair fame fate fear foes folly fool French George give grace Greek hast head hear heart heaven IDA PFEIFFER ILLUSTRATED Jack John JOHN CHILDS Justice king kiss knave LADY late Traded lawyers Lesbia lies live LORD Lord Neaves MARRIAGE married Martial MORAL ne'er never o'er once pity poet poor praise pray Price Punch Queen quoth reign replied rich rose sigh Sir John Harrington smile soul steal sure sweet tears tell thee there's thet thine thing THOMAS FULLER thou art true turn'd twas twill Venus verse Washington Irving Whigs wife WILLIAM HONE wise wonder worse
Popular passages
Page 73 - Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
Page 65 - THREE poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed; The next in majesty; in both the last. The force of nature could no further go ; To make a third, she joined the former two.
Page 212 - Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory — Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
Page 73 - Shakspearc and Milton, like gods in the fight, Have put their whole drama and epic to flight ; In satires, epistles, and odes, would they cope. Their numbers retreat before Dryden and Pope ; And Johnson, well arm'd like a hero of yore, Has beat forty French, \ and will beat forty more...
Page 138 - But now, her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on cut short all; The doctors found, when she was dead, — Her last disorder mortal. Let us lament, in sorrow sore, For Kent Street well may say, That had she lived a twelvemonth more — She had not died to-day.
Page 53 - In all thy humours, whether grave or mellow, Thou'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow; Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen, about thee, There is no living with thee, nor without thee.
Page 148 - What can the cause be, when the king hath given His poet sack, the household will not pay? Are they so scanted in their store? — or driven For want of knowing the poet, to say him nay? Well, they should know him, would the king but grant His poet leave to sing his household true...
Page 89 - King George in a fright, Lest Gibbon should write The story of Britain's disgrace, Thought no means more sure His pen to secure, Than to give the historian a place.