The New Foundling Hospital for Wit: Being a Collection of Fugitive Pieces, in Prose and Verse, Not in Any Other Collection. With Several Pieces Never Before Published, Volume 41786 - English literature |
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Befides beſt bleffings breaſt caufe cauſe Celbridge CHORUS court Earl EPIGRAM ev'ry eyes facred fafe faid fair fame fave fcorn feal fecure feen fenfe fent feven fhall fhame fhew fhine fhore fhould fide fighs fince fing firſt fkies flain fome fons foon foul fpirit freedom ftate ftill ftream fubject fuch fure fword give glory grace hand heart himſelf honeft honour horſe houſe Jack Ketch Jemmy Twitcher Juftice king land laſt late laws lefs liberty loft Lord Lord Bute LORD SHELBURNE meaſures mighty minifter moſt mufe muſt ne'er numbers o'er PATENT OF PRECEDENCE patriot penfion Pitt pleaſe pleaſure pow'r praiſe prefent raiſe reafon RECITATIVE replye rife ſhall ſhe ſhine ſtand ſtate ſtep ſtill ſweet Tell thee thefe theſe thofe thoſe thou thouſand thro treaſure truth turn'd underſtand virtue Weft whofe wife wiſh worfe
Popular passages
Page 277 - While mufic charms the ravifli'd ear, "While fparkling cups delight our eyes, Be gay, and fcorn the frowns of age. What cruel anfwer have I heard ! And yet, by heav'n, I love...
Page 276 - Require the borrow'd gloss of art ? Speak not of fate : ah ! change the theme, And talk of odours, talk of wine, Talk of the flowers that round us bloom : 'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream ; To love and joy thy thoughts confine, Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom.
Page 144 - Hence, avaunt, ('tis holy ground) 'Comus, and his midnight-crew, 'And Ignorance with looks profound, 'And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue, 'Mad Sedition's cry profane, 'Servitude that hugs her chain, 'Nor in these consecrated bowers 'Let painted Flatt'ry hide her serpent-train in flowers. CHORUS 'Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain 'Dare the Muse's walk to stain, 'While bright-eyed Science watches round: 'Hence, away, 'tis holy Ground!
Page 42 - I cannot see my king Neither in person or in coin ; Yet contemplation is a thing That renders what I have not, mine...
Page 276 - tis all a dream; To love and joy thy thoughts confine, Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom. Beauty has such...
Page 275 - That rosy cheek, that lily hand, • Would give thy poet more delight Than all Bocara's vaunted gold, Than all the gems of Samarcand. Boy, let yon liquid ruby flow, And bid thy pensive heart be glad, Whate'er the frowning zealots say : Tell them, their Eden cannot show A stream so clear as Rocnabad, A bower so sweet as Mosellay.
Page 148 - Anjou's heroine, and the paler rose, The rival of her crown and of her woes, And either Henry there, The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord, That broke the bonds of Rome. (Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, Their human passions now no more, Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb.
Page 57 - With fifteen hundred bowmen bold, All chosen men of might, Who knew full well in time of need To aim their shafts aright.
Page 258 - In happy climes, where from the genial fun And virgin earth fuch fcenes enfue, The force of art by nature feems outdone, And fancied beauties by the true : • In happy climes, the feat of innocence, Where nature guides and virtue rules, Where men fhall not impofe for truth and fenfe The pedantry of courts and fchools : There fhall be fung another golden age...
Page 148 - And sad Chatillon, on her bridal morn That wept her bleeding Love, and princely Clare. And Anjou's heroine, and the paler rose, The rival of her crown and of her woes, And either Henry there, The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord, That broke the bonds of Rome.