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Page 124 - Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As, to be hated, needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
Page 105 - The chariest maid is prodigal enough, If she unmask her beauty to the moon : Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes : The canker galls the infants of the spring Too oft before their buttons be disclosed, And in the morn and liquid dew of youth Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Page 72 - Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Page 142 - Their only labour was to kill the time; And labour dire it is, and weary woe. They sit, they loll, turn o'er some idle rhyme; Then, rising sudden, to the glass they go, Or saunter forth, with tottering step and slow: This soon too rude an exercise they find; Straight on the couch their limbs again they throw, -Where hours on hours they sighing lie reclin'd, And court the vapoury god soft-breathing in the wind.
Page 288 - Faults in the life breed errors in the brain, And these, reciprocally, those again. The mind and conduct mutually imprint And stamp their image in each other's mint ; Each sire and dam, of an infernal race, Begetting and conceiving all that's base.
Page 107 - Which, by remembrance, will assuage Grief, sickness, poverty, and age; And strongly shoot a radiant dart To shine through life's declining part. Say, Stella, feel you no content, Reflecting on a life well spent?
Page 135 - Secure us kindly in our native night. Or, if to wit a coxcomb make pretence, Guard the sure barrier between that and sense; Or quite unravel all the reas'ning thread, And hang some curious cobweb in its stead! As, forced from wind-guns, lead itself can fly, And pond'rous slugs cut swiftly through the sky...
Page 154 - Yea even that, which mischief meant most harm, Shall in the happy trial prove most glory : But evil on itself shall back recoil, And mix no more with goodness, when at last...
Page 466 - Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do it ; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord its various tone, Each spring its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it ; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.