The Works of Celebrated Authors, of Whose Writings There are But Small Remains: George Stepney. William Walsh. Thomas Tickell. Bishop Sprat

J. and R. Tonson and S. Draper, 1750 - 415 pages

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Page 337 - Nor think him all thy own. To-morrow, in the church to wed, Impatient, both prepare ! But know, fond maid ; and know, false man, That Lucy will be there!
Page 334 - Proud names, who once the reins of empire held ; In arms who triumph'd, or in arts excell'd ; Chiefs, grac'd with scars, and prodigal of blood; Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood ; Just men, by whom impartial laws were given ; And saints who taught, and led, the way to Heaven...
Page 334 - ... left behind, A task well suited to thy gentle mind? Oh ! if sometimes thy spotless form descend : To me, thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend! When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, And turn from ill, a frail and feeble heart ; Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
Page 293 - The names and natures of the brutal kind. Then lamb and lion friendly walk'd their round, And hares, undaunted, lick'd the fondling hound ; Wondrous to tell ! but when, with luckless hand, Our daring mother broke the sole command, Then Want and Envy brought their meagre train, Then Wrath came down, and Death had leave to...
Page 337 - In early youth I die : Was I to blame, because his bride Was thrice as rich as I ? "Ah, Colin ! give not her thy vows, Vows due to me alone : Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, Nor think him all thy own.
Page 333 - To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine, A frequent pilgrim at thy sacred shrine ; Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan, And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone.
Page 337 - When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, She saw her husband dead. Then to his Lucy's new-made grave, Convey'd by trembling swains, One mould with her, beneath one sod, For ever he remains.
Page 335 - If pensive to the rural shades I rove, His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove : 'Twas there of Just and Good he...
Page 335 - There taught us how to live; and (oh! too high The price for knowledge) taught us how to die.
Page 259 - Then fets th' inverted fort before her eyes, And mines, that whirl'd battalions to the Ikies ; His little liftening progeny turn pale, And beg again to hear the dreadful tale. Such dire achievements...

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