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acquaintance admiration afterwards ambition amusing BALLYMAHON Bishop Bishop of Dromore bookseller character comedy contempt critic Dear Sir diocese of Elphin Dublin Duke Earl Earl of Mar Edgeworthstown Edinburgh endeavour England Europe excellence fame favour fortune France French friends genius gentleman George Steevens give happiness honour hope humour Ireland Johnson labour lady late letter literary lived Lord Bolingbroke lordship mankind manner ment merit Miss Catley nature never obliged occasion Oliver Goldsmith once Parnell party passion perhaps philosopher pleasure poem poet poetry polite learning poor Pope present Pretender profession published racter reader received scarcely Scotland Scribblerus Club seemed sent soon supposed taste thing Thomas Davies thought tion tory Traveller trifling turn universities whigs write written wrote Zoilus
Strana 277 - Good people all of every sort, Give ear unto my song, And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long. In Islington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran, Whene'er he went to pray. A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes ! The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes. And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.
Strana 278 - When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray ; What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom — is to die.
Strana 76 - Till, quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride; And sought a solitude forlorn, In secret, where he died. * But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay; I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. < And there forlorn, despairing, hid, I'll lay me down and die; 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I.
Strana 293 - GOOD people all, with one accord, Lament for Madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word — From those who spoke her praise. The needy seldom pass'd her door, And always found her kind: She freely lent to all the poor — Who left a pledge behind. She strove the neighbourhood to please, With manners wondrous winning; And never follow'd wicked ways — Unless when she was sinning.
Strana 291 - The wretch, condemn'd with life to part, Still, still on hope relies ; And every pang that rends the heart, Bids expectation rise. Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, Adorns and cheers the way ; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.
Strana 89 - Lincolnshire for this season. Reynolds is just returned from Paris, and finds himself now in the case of a truant that must make up for his idle time by diligence. We have therefore agreed to postpone our journey till next summer, when we hope to have the honour of waiting upon Lady Rothes, and you, and staying double the time of our late intended visit.
Strana 292 - HERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed, Who long was a bookseller's hack ; He led such a damnable life in this world, — I don't think he'll wish to come back.
Strana 200 - ... been content with restoring antiquated words and phrases, but have indulged themselves in the most licentious transpositions, and the harshest constructions, vainly imagining, that the more their writings are unlike prose, the more they resemble poetry. They have adopted a language of their own, and call upon mankind for admiration. All those who do not understand them are silent, and those who make out their meaning are willing to praise, to show they understand.
Strana 274 - And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep ; A shade that follows wealth or fame, But leaves the wretch to weep...
Strana 34 - And, let me tell you,' added the third lady, whose mouth was puckered up to the size of an issue, 'that the Duchess has fine lips, but she wants a mouth.'— At this every lady drew up her mouth as if going to pronounce the letter P. "But how ill, my Bob, does it become me to ridicule women with whom I have scarcely any correspondence?