The Works of the Author of the Night-thoughts ...

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D. Browne, C. Hitch and L. Hawes, 1762 - English literature - 2 pages

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Page 155 - How rich the Peacock ! what bright glories run From plume to plume, and vary in the sun ! He proudly spreads them, to the golden ray Gives all his colours, and adorns the day ; With conscious state the spacious round displays, And slowly moves amid the waving blaze.
Page 147 - Since great his strength, go trust him, void of care ; Lay on his neck the toil of all the year ; Bid him bring home the seasons to thy doors, And cast his load among thy gather'd stores.
Page 56 - And silent mourners sadden'd all the room. Shall I proceed, or here break off my tale, Nor truths to...
Page 69 - O'er globes, and sceptres, now on thrones it swells ; Now; trims the midnight lamp in college cells : ?Tis tory, whig ; it plots, prays, preaches, pleads, Harangues in senates, squeaks in masquerades.
Page 76 - Whose mistress is saluted with a smack, And friend receiv'd with thumps upon the back) When thy sleek gelding nimbly leaps the mound. And Ringwood opens on the tainted ground, Is that thy praise ? Let...
Page 147 - Tis dreadful to behold his nostrils blaze ; To paw the vale he proudly takes delight, And triumphs in the fulness of his might ; High rais'd he snuffs the battle from afar, And burns to plunge amid the raging war ; And mocks at death, and throws his foam around, And in a storm of fury shakes the ground. How does his firm, his rising heart, advance Full on the...
Page 87 - As sure as cards he to th' assembly comes, And is the furniture of drawing-rooms : When Ombre calls, his hand and heart are free, And, joined to two, he fails not — to make three ; Narcissus is the glory of his race ; For who does nothing with a better grace ? To deck my list by nature were designed Such shining expletives of human kind, Who want, .while through blank life they dream along, Sense to be right and passion to be wrong.
Page 12 - Say then, my muse, whom dismal scenes delight, Frequent at tombs, and in the realms of night ; Say, melancholy maid, if bold to dare The...
Page 77 - And fewer shocks a statesman gives his friend. Is there a man of an eternal vein, "Who lulls the town in winter with his strain, At Bath, in summer, chants the reigning lass, And sweetly whistles as the waters pass ? Is there a tongue, like Delia's o'er her cup, That runs for ages without winding- up...
Page 147 - Through the wide waste, his ample mansion, roam, And lose himself in his unbounded home ? By nature's hand magnificently fed, His meal is on the range of mountains spread; As in pure air aloft he bounds along, He sees in distant smoke the city throng; Conscious of freedom, scorns the smother'd train, The threat'ning driver, and the servile rein.

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