Preface

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Стр. 11 - Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last; One speaks the glory of the British queen, And one describes a charming Indian screen; A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes; At ev'ry word a reputation dies. Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat, With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that...
Стр. 251 - No thought advances, but her eddy brain Whisks it about, and down it goes again. Full sixty years the world has been her trade, The wisest fool much time has ever made. From loveless youth to unrespected age...
Стр. 88 - Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air; Choose a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute. Rufa, whose eye quick-glancing o'er the park, Attracts each light gay meteor of a spark...
Стр. 122 - To say truth, there is no part of the world where our sex is treated with so much contempt as in England. I do not complain of men for having engrossed the government ; in excluding us from all degrees of power, they preserve us from many fatigues, many dangers, and perhaps many crimes.
Стр. 252 - Who breaks with her provokes revenge from hell, But he's a bolder man who dares be well. Her every turn with violence pursued, Nor more a storm her hate than gratitude : To that each passion turns or soon or late ; Love, if it makes her yield, must make her hate.
Стр. 55 - I went to the bagnio about ten o'clock. It was already full of women. It is built of stone, in the shape of a dome, with no windows but in the roof, which gives light enough. There were five of these domes joined together, the outmost being less than the rest, and serving only as a hall, where the portress stood at the door.
Стр. 78 - tis justice, soon or late, Mercy alike to kill or save. Virtue unmov'd can hear the call, And face the flash that melts the ball.
Стр. 79 - I must applaud your good nature in supposing that your pastoral lovers (vulgarly called haymakers) would have lived in everlasting joy and harmony, if the lightning had not interrupted their scheme of happiness.
Стр. 253 - Last night, her lord was all that's good and great; A knave this morning, and his will a cheat. Strange ! by the means defeated of the ends, By spirit...
Стр. 94 - This is, I think, the whole state of love; as to that of wit, it splits itself into ten thousand branches ; poets increase and multiply to that stupendous degree...

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