The Works of the English Poets: Swift

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Seite 25 - You are no Text for my Handling, so take that from me: I was never taken for a Conjurer before, I'd have you to know.
Seite 265 - Down through a thing you call a vale, Like tears adown a wrinkled cheek, Like rain along a blade of leek : And this you call your sweet meander, Which might be suck'd up by a gander, Could he but force his nether bill To scoop the channel of the rill.
Seite 178 - Call'd every power to ease my pains ; Then Stella ran to my relief, With cheerful face and inward grief; And, though by Heaven's severe decree She suffers hourly more than me, No cruel master could require, From slaves...
Seite 22 - Then the Bell rung, and I went down to put my Lady to Bed, And, God knows, I thought my Money was as safe as my Maidenhead. So when I came up again, I found my Pocket feel very light, But when I search'd, and miss'd my Purse, Lord! I thought I should have sunk outright: Lord! Madam, says Mary, how d'ye do? Indeed, says I, never worse; But pray, Mary, can you tell what I have done with my Purse!
Seite 323 - I speak without a tongue. Nought but one thing can confound me, Many voices joining round me; Then I fret, and rave, and gabble, Like the labourers of Babel. Now I am a dog, or cow, I can bark, or I can low; I can bleat, or I can sing, Like the warblers of the spring. Let the lovesick bard complain...
Seite 149 - Tis true — then why should I repine To see my life so fast decline ? But why obscurely here alone, Where I am neither loved nor known ? My state of health none care to learn ; My life is here no soul's concern ; And those with whom I now converse, Without a tear will tend my hearse. Removed from kind Arbuthnot's aid, Who knows his art, but not his trade, Preferring his regard for me Before his credit or his fee.
Seite 99 - I chopp'd so fast, that few there minded. My emblem, the laborious sun, Saw all these mighty labours done Before one race of his was run. All this perform'd by Robert Hewit: What mortal else could e'er go through it!
Seite 90 - Not thinking it is levee-day, And find his honour in a pound, Hemm'd by a triple circle round, Chequer'd with ribbons blue and green: How should I thrust myself between?
Seite 61 - Triumphant Tories and desponding Whigs Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs. Box'd in a chair, the beau impatient sits, While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits, And ever and anon with frightful din The leather sounds ; he trembles from within...
Seite 89 - I'VE often wish'd that I had clear For life six hundred pounds a year, A handsome house to lodge a friend, A river at my garden's end, A terrace-walk, and half a rood Of land set out to plant a wood. Well, now I have all this, and more, I ask not to increase my store ; But here a grievance seems to lie, All this is mine but till I die; I can't but think 'twould sound more clever, To me and to my heirs for ever.

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