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, Band 4

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John Almon
J. Debrett, 1786
 

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Seite 277 - While mufic charms the ravifli'd ear, "While fparkling cups delight our eyes, Be gay, and fcorn the frowns of age. What cruel anfwer have I heard ! And yet, by heav'n, I love...
Seite 276 - Require the borrow'd gloss of art ? Speak not of fate : ah ! change the theme, And talk of odours, talk of wine, Talk of the flowers that round us bloom : 'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream ; To love and joy thy thoughts confine, Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom.
Seite 144 - Hence, avaunt, ('tis holy ground) 'Comus, and his midnight-crew, 'And Ignorance with looks profound, 'And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue, 'Mad Sedition's cry profane, 'Servitude that hugs her chain, 'Nor in these consecrated bowers 'Let painted Flatt'ry hide her serpent-train in flowers. CHORUS 'Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain 'Dare the Muse's walk to stain, 'While bright-eyed Science watches round: 'Hence, away, 'tis holy Ground!
Seite 42 - I cannot see my king Neither in person or in coin ; Yet contemplation is a thing That renders what I have not, mine...
Seite 276 - tis all a dream; To love and joy thy thoughts confine, Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom. Beauty has such...
Seite 275 - That rosy cheek, that lily hand, • Would give thy poet more delight Than all Bocara's vaunted gold, Than all the gems of Samarcand. Boy, let yon liquid ruby flow, And bid thy pensive heart be glad, Whate'er the frowning zealots say : Tell them, their Eden cannot show A stream so clear as Rocnabad, A bower so sweet as Mosellay.
Seite 148 - Anjou's heroine, and the paler rose, The rival of her crown and of her woes, And either Henry there, The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord, That broke the bonds of Rome. (Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, Their human passions now no more, Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb.
Seite 57 - With fifteen hundred bowmen bold, All chosen men of might, Who knew full well in time of need To aim their shafts aright.
Seite 258 - In happy climes, where from the genial fun And virgin earth fuch fcenes enfue, The force of art by nature feems outdone, And fancied beauties by the true : • In happy climes, the feat of innocence, Where nature guides and virtue rules, Where men fhall not impofe for truth and fenfe The pedantry of courts and fchools : There fhall be fung another golden age...
Seite 148 - And sad Chatillon, on her bridal morn That wept her bleeding Love, and princely Clare. And Anjou's heroine, and the paler rose, The rival of her crown and of her woes, And either Henry there, The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord, That broke the bonds of Rome.

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