Selections from Pope's Works: An Essay on Criticism, The Rape of the Lock, The Temple of Fame, Windsor Forest

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George Bell & Sons, 1893 - 156 pages
 

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Page 25 - And decks the goddess with the glitt'ring spoil. This casket India's glowing gems unlocks, And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. The tortoise here and elephant unite, Transform'd to combs, the speckled, and the white. Here files of pins extend their shining rows. Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet-doux.
Page 7 - A perfect judge will read each work of wit With the same spirit that its author writ : Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find Where Nature moves, and rapture warms the mind ; Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight, The gen'rous pleasure to be charm'd with wit.
Page 9 - And value books, as women men, for dress: Their praise is still, — The style is excellent; The sense, they humbly take upon content. Words are like leaves; and where they most abound, Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found.
Page 34 - And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies. Not louder shrieks to pitying heav'n are cast, When husbands, or when lapdogs breathe their last; Or when rich China vessels fall'n from high, In glitt'ring dust and painted fragments lie! Let wreaths of triumph now my temples twine (The victor cry'd) the glorious Prize is mine!
Page 1 - Tis with our judgments as our watches, none Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
Page 9 - Its gaudy colours spreads on every place ; The face of nature we no more survey, All glares alike, without distinction gay; But true expression, like th' unchanging sun, Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon ; It gilds all objects, but it alters none.
Page 3 - First follow nature, and your judgment frame By her just standard, which is still the same : Unerring nature, still divinely bright, One clear, unchanged, and universal light, Life, force, and beauty, must to all impart, At once the source, and end, and test of art.
Page 62 - See! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings: Short is his joy; he feels the fiery wound, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground. Ah! what avail his glossy, varying dyes, His purple crest, and scarlet-circled eyes, The vivid green his shining plumes unfold, His painted wings, and breast that flames with gold?
Page 21 - The Rosicrucians are a people I must bring you acquainted with. The best account I know of them is in a French book, called Le Comte de Gabalis, which both in its title and size is so like a Novel, that many of the Fair Sex have read it for one by mistake.
Page 38 - fore Gad, you must be civil ! "Plague on't! 'tis past a jest — nay prithee, pox! " Give her the hair " — he spoke, and rapp'd his box. It grieves me much (replied the Peer again,) Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain. But by this lock, this sacred lock, I swear, (Which never more shall join its parted hair; Which never more its...

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