The New Foundling Hospital for Wit: Being a Collection of Fugitive Pieces, in Prose and Verse, Not in Any Other Collection. With Several Pieces Never Before Published, 6. kötet

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John Almon
J. Debrett, 1786

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31. oldal - The busy day, the peaceful night, Unfelt, uncounted, glided by ; His frame was firm, his powers were bright, Though now his eightieth year was nigh. Then with no fiery throbbing pain, No cold gradations of decay, Death broke at once the vital chain, And freed his soul the nearest way.
81. oldal - The righted orphan's grateful tear. To Virtue and her friends a friend, Still may my voice the weak defend, Ne'er may my prostituted tongue Protect th' oppressor in his wrong, Nor wrest the spirit of the laws To sanctify a villain's cause.
102. oldal - Tis all a trick ; these all are shams, By which they mean to cheat you ; But have a care, for you're the Lambs, And they the Wolves that eat you. Nor let the thoughts of no delay To these their courts misguide you ; 'Tis you're the showy Horse, and they The Jockeys that will ride you.
137. oldal - Tis harder still to fix than gain a heart; What's won by beauty must be kept by art. Too kind a treatment the blest lover cloys, And oft despair the growing flame destroys...
201. oldal - That living could not bear to see An equal, now lies torn and dead ; Here his pale trunk, and there his head : Great Pompey ! while I meditate, With solemn horror, thy sad fate, Thy carcass scatter'd on the shore Without a name, instructs me more Than my whole library before.
48. oldal - Alas ! by fome degree of woe We every blifs muft gain : The heart can ne'er a tranfport know, That never feels a pain.
70. oldal - The heart that melts for others' woe, Shall then scarce feel its own. The wounds which now each moment bleed, Each moment then shall close; And tranquil days shall still succeed To nights of calm repose.
176. oldal - I'm alive, To take the Crown at eighteen years, The wife at twenty-five ! The mystery how shall we explain, For sure as Dowdeswell said, * Thus early if they're fit to reign They must be fit to wed ! Quoth Tom to Dick, thou art a fool, And little know"st of life, Alas ! 'tis easier far to rule A kingdom than a wife.
56. oldal - till eleven, or cock my lac'd Hat ; Then step to my Neighbours, 'till Dinner, to chat. Dinner over, to Toms, or to James's I go, The News of the Town so impatient to know ; While Law, Locke, and Newton, and all the rum Race, That talk of their Modes, their Ellipses, and Space, The Seat of the Soul, and new Systems on high, In Holes, as abtruse...
27. oldal - To form that harmony of soul and face, Where beauty shines, the mirror of the mind. Such was the maid, that in the morn of youth,. In virgin innocence, in Nature's pride, Blest with each art, that owes its charm to truth, Sunk in her Father's fond embrace, and died. He weeps : O venerate the holy tear ! Faith lends her aid to ease Affliction's load; The parent mourns his child upon the bier, The Christian yields an angel to his God.

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