The Monthly Review, Or, Literary Journal, Band 77

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Seite 187 - 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 223 - Ask where's the North? at York, 'tis on the Tweed; In Scotland, at the Orcades ; and there, At Greenland, Zembla, or the Lord knows where.
Seite 411 - Oh ! while along the stream of Time thy name Expanded flies, and gathers all its fame, Say, shall my little bark attendant sail, Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale...
Seite 458 - Two Dialogues; containing a Comparative View of the Lives, Characters, and Writings, of Philip the late Earl of Chesterfield, and Dr. Samuel Johnson,
Seite 310 - High and mighty king, your grace, and these your nobles here present, may be pleased benignly to bow your ears to hear the tragedy of a young man, that by right ought to hold in his hand the ball of a kingdom ; but by fortune is made himself a ball, tossed from misery to misery, and from place to place.
Seite 435 - ... thereunto, borrowed even from the praises which are proper to virtue itself. As of a most notorious thief, and wicked outlaw...
Seite 436 - ... of their houses to lead him in the darkness; that the day was his night, and the night his day; that he loved not to be long wooing of wenches to yield to him; but, where he came, he took by force the spoil of other men's love, and left but...
Seite 162 - I put my hat upon my head And walk'd into the strand ; And there I met another man, Whose hat was in his hand.
Seite 63 - This list is given by Sir John, as it should seem, with no other view than to draw a spiteful and malevolent character of almost every one of them. Mr. Dyer, whom Sir John says he loved with the affection of a brother, meets with the harshest treatment, because it was his maxim, that to live in peace with mankind, and in a temper to do good offices, was the most essential part of our duty.
Seite 7 - The poet's eye, in a fine phrenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven ; And, as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation, and a name.

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