Poems by the Earl of Roscommon: To which is Added an Essay on PoetryJ. Tonson, at Shakespear's Head, 1717 - 536 oldal |
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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 |
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alfo Ancient Ariftotle Art of Poetry atque Attellane becauſe beſt Book Breaſt Cafar call'd carmine Charms Chorus Comedy Comick cou'd cùm Cyclops Cytherea Defign Domitian Eclogue Empedocles Epick Euripides ev'ry Eyes facundia faid fame Faults fays fear felf fhall fhew fhould fibi fince fing firft firſt foft fome fometimes fpeaks ftill fuch Gods Greeks Heav'n himſelf Homer Horace juft King laft lambick laſt lefs loft Love malè Medea mighty moſt Mufe muft Muſe muſt Numbers nunc Nymphs Ovid Paffion Perfon Plautus play'd pleaſe Poem Poets Pow'r Praife Praiſe prefent quæ quam quid Quintilian quod Rage raiſe Reafon Romans Rome Satyrs Senfe Senſe ſhall ſhe Silenus Song Sophocles Soul ſpeak Spondees ſtill Telephus thee thefe themſelves theſe Things thofe thoſe thou thro tibi Tragedy Tragick Tranflated uſe Verfe verfus Verſe Virgil whofe Whoſe Words wou'd write
Népszerű szakaszok
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.
421. oldal - Though to that pomp his voice can add no more, Than when we drops into the ocean pour, Has leave his tongue in praises to employ (Th...