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Ballyspellin bard Behold better birth-day bishop Caelia cassock Chloe clouds countess of Suffolk court crown dame damn'd Dean dear death delight Dick divine doctor Drapier dreadful Dublin dullest beast ears EPIGRAM eyes face fair fame fate foes fools friends give goddess gown grace grown half head hear heart Hibernian honour Ireland Jove king lady learning Lord Lord Carteret madam MARBLE HILL merit mind Muse ne'er never night nose numbers nymph o'er once Patrick's Phoebus poem poets poor Pope praise pride quadrille queen rais'd rhyme rogue round scorn shine sick sing Sir Arthur Sir Arthur Acheson Sir Thomas Prendergast soul spite spleen STEPHEN DUCK Strephon sure swear Swift tell thee There's thou thought thousand tongue tories true Twill verse vex'd virtue whig wise Wood writ
244 ページ - Offending race of human kind, By nature, reason, learning, blind ; You who, through frailty, stepp'd aside ; And you, who never fell from pride : You who in different sects were shamm'd, And come to see each other damn'd ; (So some folk told you, but they knew No more of Jove's designs than you ;) — The world's mad business now is o'er, And I resent these pranks no more. — I to such blockheads set my wit ! I damn such fools ! — -Go, go, you're bit.
263 ページ - Here shift the scene, to represent How those I love my death lament. Poor Pope will grieve a month, and Gay A week, and Arbuthnot a day. St. John himself will scarce forbear To bite his pen, and drop a tear. The rest will give a shrug, and cry, "I'm sorry— but we all must die!
261 ページ - Now the departing prayer is read: He hardly breathes. The Dean is dead. Before the passing-bell begun, The news through half the town has run. O, may we all for Death prepare! What has he left? And who's his heir?
272 ページ - Yet malice never was his aim ; He lash'd the vice, but spared the name : No individual could resent, Where thousands equally were meant : His satire points at no defect, But what all mortals may correct ; For he abhorr'd that senseless tribe Who call it humour when they gibe.
260 ページ - And well remembers Charles the Second. 'He hardly drinks a pint of wine ; 'And that, I doubt, is no good sign. 'His stomach too begins to fail: 'Last year we thought him strong and hale; 'But now, he's quite another thing; 'I wish he may hold out till Spring.' Then hug themselves, and reason thus; 'It is not yet so bad with us.
258 ページ - Tis all on me a usurpation. . I have no title to aspire ; Yet, when you sink, I seem the higher. In Pope I cannot read a line, But with a sigh I wish it mine ; When he can in one couplet fix More sense than I can do in six ; It gives me such a jealous fit, I cry, " Pox take him and his wit !" I grieve to be outdone by Gay In my own humorous biting way.
271 ページ - In exile with a steady heart, 'He spent his Life's declining part; 'Where, folly, pride, and faction sway, 'Remote from St. John, Pope, and Gay.
266 ページ - Suppose me dead; and then suppose A Club assembled at the Rose; Where from Discourse of this and that, I grow the Subject of their Chat: And, while they toss my Name about, With Favour some, and some without; One quite...
292 ページ - Creatures of every kind but ours Well comprehend their natural powers, While we, whom reason ought to sway, Mistake our talents every day. The Ass was never known so stupid, To act the part of Tray or Cupid ; Nor leaps upon his master's lap, There to be...