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appear bear beauty becauſe began better blood Church common death DERRICK Dryden edition eyes face facred fair faith fall fame fate fear fenfe fhall fhould fight fire firft firſt foes fome fools force foul ftill fubjects fuch fure give grace ground hand happy heart heaven himſelf honour hope Italy judge kind king lady laft laws learning lefs light live look mind moft moſt mufe muft muſt nature never o'er once original pain peace piece plain play pleaſe pleaſure poem poet praiſe prince PROLOGUE race reign ſhe ſhould ſtage thee theſe thing thofe thoſe thou thought TODD tranflated true turn verfe virtue WARTON whofe wife write young
Page 342 - Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew! Behold how they toss their torches on high, How they point to the Persian abodes And glittering temples of their hostile gods.
Page 322 - Less than a God they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell, That spoke so sweetly and so well.
Page 336 - Flushed with a purple grace He shows his honest face: Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes! Bacchus , ever fair and young , Drinking joys did first ordain : Bacchus...
Page 335 - With flying fingers touched the lyre : The trembling notes ascend the sky, And heavenly joys inspire. The song began from Jove, Who left his blissful seats above, (Such is the power of mighty love.) A dragon's fiery form belied the god : Sublime on radiant spires he rode, When he to fair Olympia...
Page 342 - At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown ; He raised a mortal to the skies ; She drew an angel down.
Page 337 - Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure ; Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure ; Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; Fought all his battles o'er again ; And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain.
Page 569 - As for the Dog, the Furies, and their snakes, The gloomy caverns, and the burning lakes, And all the vain infernal trumpery, They neither are, nor were, nor e'er can be.
Page 179 - In thy felonious heart though venom lies, It does but touch thy Irish pen and dies. Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame...