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agree appear arms aſk AUTHOR beauty better Biſhop BOOK charms Cloe cries death died Doctor drink Epig EPIGRAM eyes face fair fame fate feel Fellow firſt Fool force gave give grace grave hand happy head hear heart hope houſe Joan John keep kind LADY late lies lines live Lord lover MARTIAL muſt ne'er never night numbers once PAINTED Phyſic pleaſe Poet poor Pope praiſe pray pride Prior proud prove quoth reaſon ſaid ſame ſay Says ſee ſent ſhall ſhe ſhould ſome ſoon ſtand ſtate ſtill ſuch ſure talk tell thee theſe thing Thomas thoſe thou thought told took tranſlated true truth turn Twas verſes VOLUME whoſe wife WRITTEN young
71. oldal - Live while you live, the Epicure would say, And seize the pleasures of the present day. Live while you live, the sacred Preacher cries, And give to God each moment as it flies.
13. oldal - Three poets in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn; The first in loftiness of thought surpassed, The next in majesty; in both the last. The force of Nature could no further go, To make a third she joined the former two.
13. oldal - Flavia the least and slightest toy Can with resistless art employ. This Fan in meaner hands would prove An engine of small force in love ; But she, with such an air and mien, Not to be told or safely seen, Directs its wanton motions so, That it wounds more than Cupid's bow ; Gives coolness to the matchless dame, To every other breast a flame.
19. oldal - Nobles and heralds, by your leave, Here lies what once was Matthew Prior, The son of Adam and of Eve ; Can Bourbon or Nassau claim higher ? " But, in this case, the old prejudice got the better of the old joke.
115. oldal - ILov'd thee beautiful and kind, And plighted an eternal vow ; So alter'd are thy face and mind, 'Twere perjury to love thee now.
88. oldal - In bed we laugh, in bed we cry, And born in bed, in bed we die; The near approach a bed may show Of human bliss to human woe.
22. oldal - Radcliff ; was so ill, That other doctors gave me over : He felt my pulse, prescribed his pill, And I was likely to recover. " But when the wit began to wheeze, And wine had warmed the politician, Cured yesterday of my disease, I died last night of my physician.
126. oldal - And rather than do such a naughty affair, She became a fine laurel to deck the God's hair. The nymph was, no doubt, of a cold constitution; For sure to turn tree was an odd resolution!