The works of Peter Pindar, Band 2John Walker, 1797 |
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agen alſo Bard Behold bleſt CÆSAR call'd charms cry'd curſe Dame dear dread ears EMP'ROR Ev'n ev'ry eyes faid fair fame fatire figh fing firſt fiſh folemn fome fong foon form'd foul fublime fuch giv'n grace Grand Directors head heart Heav'n honour horſe houſe juſt KIEN LONG King Lord LORD MACARTNEY Majesty Maſter midſt mighty Miſtreſs Monarch moſt mouth Muſe muſt night noſe o'er paſs PETER PINDAR PITT pleas'd pleaſe pleaſure Poet poor pow'r praiſe pray preſent pretty Queen rhymes royal ſay ſcarce ſcene ſchool ſcorn ſee ſeen ſhade ſhall ſhame ſhe ſhop ſhould ſhow Sir JOSEPH ſkin ſmall ſmile ſome ſpeak ſpirit ſpring ſtar ſtare ſtart ſtate ſteal ſtream ſtrong ſubjects ſuch ſwear ſweet thee theſe thine things thoſe thou Verger verſe ween Whilft Whoſe wild wing wiſh wonder Zounds
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 110 - And think that risibility was giv'n For human happiness, by gracious Heav'n, And that we came not into life to cry : To wear long faces, just as if our Maker, The God of Goodness, was an undertaker, Well pleas'd to wrap the soul's unlucky mien In sorrow's dismal crape, or bombasine.
Seite 222 - Roses shall smooth life's journey, and adorn ; Yet mind me — if, through want of grace, Thou mean'st to fling the blessing in my face, Thou hast full leave to tread upon a thorn.
Seite 392 - When prudence mounts their backs to ride them mild, They fling, they snort, they foam, they rise inflamed.
Seite 112 - Got a good handfome beakfull by good pulling, And flew, without a " Thank ye," to his thorn, The Pig fet up a difmal yelling...
Seite 162 - ... t is a shame, — Nothing their thoughtless, wild career can tame, Till penury stares them in the face ; And when they find an empty purse, Grown calmer, wiser, how the fault they curse, And, limping, look with such a sneaking grace! Job's war-horse fierce, his neck with thunder hung, Sunk to an humble hack that carries dung.
Seite 318 - Would not much like to dangle with wry faces. " But mum, my Lords— mum, mum, my Lords— mum, " mum:
Seite 192 - Crowd with fair columns, ftruck by TIME, thy page. And fnatch the falling grandeur from his rage : Give that old TIME a vomit too, and draw, More of Egyptian marvels from his maw ; Bid him difgorge (by moderns call'da hum) Scratch'd by ten thoufand trav'lers, Memnon's bum ; And, what all rarities muft needs furpafs, The tail, the curious tail of Balaam's afs.
Seite 408 - ... beneath thy beam, I own I labour for the voice of praife — For who would fink in dull OBLIVION'S ftream?
Seite 160 - ODE. THAT I have often been in love, deep love, A hundred doleful ditties plainly prove. By marriage never have I been disjointed; .For matrimony deals prodigious blows : Aud yet for this same stormy state, God knows, I've groan'd— and, thank my stars, been disappointed.
Seite 408 - Now blacken'd, and now flashing through her skies. But all is silence here: beneath thy beam, I own I labour for the voice of praise ; For who would sink in dull Oblivion's stream?