What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
Abelard Addifon alfo almoft ancient beauty becaufe beft Boileau Cant character circumftance clofe compofition Corneille criticifm critics defcribed defcription defign Domenichino Dryden Eclogue elegance Eloifa epic epic poetry epiftle Euripides excellent exquifite faid fame fatire fays fcene fecond feems feen fentiments feveral fhall fhould firft fome fpeak fpecies fpeech fpirit ftage ftanza ftill ftory ftrokes ftrong ftyle fubject fublime fuch fufficient fylphs genius Georgics hath hiftory himfelf Homer Iliad images imagination imitated inferted inftance interefting itfelf Jane Shore juft king laft lefs loft Milton moft mould mufic muft nature numbers o'er obfervations occafion Ovid paffion paflage pafs painted particularly pathetic perfon Petrarch philofopher pieces Pindar pleafing pleafure poefy poem poet poetical poetry POPE praifes prefent profe publifhed Quintilian Racine reafon remarkable reprefented Sophocles tafte thefe themfelves Theocritus thofe thought tion tragedy tranflated ufed verfes Virgil Voltaire whofe writing written
Page 40 - Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; Confounded, that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities.
Page 259 - For others good, or melt at others woe. What can atone (oh ever-injur'd shade !) Thy fate unpity'd, and thy rites unpaid ? No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear Pleas'd thy pale ghost, or grac'd thy mournful bier : By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd, By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd, By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd! What tho' no friends in sable weeds appear.
Page 322 - How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said, Curse on all laws but those which love has made! Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies...
Page 157 - Where a new world leaps out at his command, And ready nature waits upon his hand ; When the ripe colours soften and unite, And sweetly melt into just shade and light ; When mellowing years their full perfection give( And each bold figure just begins to live, The treacherous colours the fair art betray, And all the bright creation fades away...
Page 233 - Where the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell I lie: There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily : Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Page 7 - Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas? For neither were ye playing on the steep, Where your old bards the famous Druids lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream.
Page 38 - The oracles are dumb; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving: No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Page 137 - ... faces to make one excellent. Such personages, I think, would please nobody but the painter that made them ; not but I think a painter may make a better face than ever was ; but he must do it by a kind of felicity, (as a musician that maketh an excellent air in music,) and not by rule.
Page 202 - What woful stuff this madrigal would be In some starved hackney sonneteer or me ! But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens ! how the style refines ! Before his sacred name flies every fault, And each exalted stanza teems with thought.
Page 164 - Durfey's Tales. With him most authors steal their works, or buy ; Garth did not write his own Dispensary. Name a new play, and he's the poet's friend ; Nay, show'd his faults — but when would poets mend? No place so sacred from such fops is barr'd, Nor is Paul's church more safe than Paul's churchyard: Nay, fly to altars ; there they'll talk you dead ; For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.