arms bards bear beauty beneath bleft breaſt charms claim court delight earth Edward EPIGRAM Ev'n ev'ry eyes facred fair fame fate fear feel fhade fhall fire flame flave flow fome fond fons force foul ftill fuch fweet gentle give glorious glory grace hand happy head hear heart heav'n Hence honour hope hour human kind king knight land laws lays liberty light loft lord means mind move mufe nature nature's never o'er once paffion pain peace plain pleaſe pleaſure pow'r praiſe pride prince publick rage reafon rife round rule ſhall ſhould ſtate tell thee thefe theſe thine thofe thoſe thou thought thro throne toils train truth vain virtue voice wealth whofe whoſe wife wou'd youth
Page 268 - Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.
Page 45 - Seek to be good, but aim not to be great: A woman's noblest station is retreat; Her fairest virtues fly from public sight, Domestic worth, that shuns too strong a light.
Page 270 - That every labouring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage : Lo, Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand And slow-consuming Age. To each his sufferings : all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan ; The tender for another's pain, Th
Page 276 - Eight times emerging from the flood She mew'd to ev'ry watry God, Some speedy aid to send. No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd: Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard. A Fav'rite has no friend! From hence, ye Beauties, undeceiv'd, Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd, And be with caution bold. Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize; Nor all, that glisters, gold.
Page 270 - Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah ! why should they know their fate ? Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies. Thought would destroy their paradise. No more ; where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
Page 267 - A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
Page 39 - To whom I gave my own harmonious lyre, If high exalted on the Throne of Wit, Near Me and Homer thou afpire to...
Page 75 - E'en for the kid or lamb that pour'd its life Beneath the bloody knife, Her gentle tears would fall, Tears from sweet virtue's source, benevolent to all.