The British essayists; to which are prefixed prefaces by J. Ferguson

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Seite 26 - angel, and of him to ask Chose rather. He, she knew, would intermix Grateful digressions, and solve high dispute With conjugal caresses; from his lip Not words alone pleas'd her. O! when meet now Such pairs in love and mutual honour join'd '
Seite 222 - I had been happy, if the gen'ral camp, Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body, So I had nothing known. Oh now! for ever Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content! Farewell the plumed troops, and the hig
Seite 188 - me no more, for they were going to put him under ground, whence he could never come to us again." She was a very beautiful woman, of a noble spirit, and there was a dignity in her grief amidst all .the wildness of her transport; which,
Seite 188 - my mother sat weeping alone by it. I had my battledore in my hand, and fell abeating the coffin, and calling Papa; for, I know not how, I had so'me slight idea that he was locked up there. My mother catched me in
Seite 188 - arms, and, transported beyond all patience of the silent grief she was before in, she almost smothered me in her embraces ; and told me in a flood of tears, " Papa could not hear me, and would play
Seite 56 - mind for king Augustus's welfare, than that of his nearest relations. He looked extremely thin in a dearth of news, and never enjoyed himself in a westerly wind. This indefatigable kind of life was the ruin of his shop; for, about the time that his favourite prince left the crown of Poland, he broke, and disappeared.
Seite 57 - while to make him repeat. naming, I take to be " Upon which, though We were now got to the upper end of the Mall, where were three or four very odd fellows sitting together upon the bench. These I found were all of them politicians, who used to sun themselves in that place every day about
Seite 100 - of the Muses; for, if you look into ancient authors, you will find it was their opinion, that there were nine of them." " I remember it very well," said I; " but pray proceed." Or Phoebus' self in petticoats. " Phoebus," says he, " was the god of Poetry. These little instances, Mr.
Seite 73 - I asked him which was the simile he meant; but was answered, any simile in Virgil. He then told me all the secret history in the commonwealth of learning; of modern pieces that had the names of ancient authors annexed to them; of all the books that were now writing or printing
Seite 243 - cuique. Hon. Ars Poet. ver. 312. The Poet, who with wild discernment knows What to his country and his friends he owes ; How various nature warms the human breast, To love the parent, brother, friend, or guest,— He surely knows, with nice, well-judging art, The strokes peculiar to each different part.

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