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Poems by the Earl of Roscommon: To Which Is Added, an Essay on Poetry
Wentworth Dillon Earl of Roscommon
Nincs elérhető előnézet - 2019
Ancient appear Arms Beauty Beginning Book bring callid calls Charms Chorus Comedy common Death ev'ry Eyes fair fall Fame Father Faults fear Fire firſt Friend give Gods Grace Greek Hand Head Heart Hero himſelf Homer Hope Horace imitate Italy juſt kind King known laſt Laws leſs Light live Love Manners means mighty Mind moſt move Muſe muſt Name Nature never once Pieces Place Plautus Play Poem Poetry Poets Praiſe quid Rage Romans Rome Rules ſaid ſame Satyrs ſays Scene ſee ſelf Senſe ſhall ſhe ſhould ſome Song Soul ſpeak Stage ſtill Subject ſuch tell thee theſe thing thoſe thou Thoughts Tragedy Tranſlated true uſe Verſe Virtue whoſe World write young Youth
411. oldal - For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost. Clouds of affection from our younger eyes Conceal that emptiness which age descries. The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made: Stronger by weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their eternal home. Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new.
183. oldal - This privilege we freely give and take; But nature; and the common laws of sense Forbid to reconcile antipathies, Or make a snake engender with a dove, And hungry tigers court the tender lambs. Some that at first have promis'd mighty things, Applaud themselves, when a few florid lines Shine through th...
310. oldal - But to write plays ! why, tis' a bold pretence To judgment, breeding, wit, and eloquence : Nay more ; for they must look within, to find Those secret turns of nature in the mind : Without this part, in vain would be the whole, And but a body all, without a soul.
88. oldal - Doubts, and wild Debates, Concerning what we, Living, cannot find. None know what Death is, but the Dead ; Therefore we all, by Nature, Dying dread, As a ftrange, doubtful Way, we know not how to tread.
239. oldal - Wise were the kings who never chose a friend Till with full cups they had unmask'd his soul. And seen the bottom of his deepest thoughts.
95. oldal - Minute ftorms the feeble Citadel. Sometimes we may capitulate, and he Pretends to make a folid Peace ; But 'tis all Sham, all...
237. oldal - I neither see what Art without a vein, Nor Wit without the help of Art can do. But mutually they crave each other's aid. He that intends to gain th...
21. oldal - But I offend — Virgil begins to frown, And Horace looks with indignation down : My blushing Muse with conscious fear retires, And whom they like implicitly admires.
301. oldal - But on the world, on manners, and on men ; Fancy is but the feather of the pen ; Reason is that substantial useful part, Which gains the head, while t'other wins the heart.