The Poetical Works of the Rev. Dr. Edward Young: With the Life of the Author, Том 4

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Benjamin Johnson, Jacob Johnson, & Robert Johnson, 1805

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Стр. 67 - Then, if ordain'd to so severe a doom, She, by just stages, journeys round the room ; But, knowing her own weakness, she despairs To scale the Alps — that is, ascend the stairs. ' My fan !' let others say, who laugh at toil ;
Стр. 62 - Pleasures are few, and fewer we enjoy ; Pleasure, like quicksilver, is bright, and coy\ We strive to grasp it with our utmost skill, Still it eludes us, and it glitters still : If seiz'd at last, compute your mighty gains; What is it, but rank poison in your veins...
Стр. 59 - O'erstock'd mankind enjoy but half her stores : In distant wilds, by human eyes unseen, She rears her flowers, and spreads her velvet green : Pure gurgling rills the lonely desert trace, And waste their music on the savage race.
Стр. 56 - With legs toss'd high, on her sophee she sits, Vouchsafing- audience to contending wits : Of each performance she's the final test ; One act read o'er, she prophesies the rest ; And then, pronouncing with decisive air, Fully convinces all the town — she's fair. Had lovely Daphne Hecatessa's face, How would her elegance of taste decrease ! Some ladies' judgment in their features lies, And all their genius sparkles from their eyes.
Стр. 70 - But adoration ! give me something more, Cries LYCE, on the borders of threescore : Nought treads so silent as the foot of time ; Hence we mistake our autumn for our prime ; 'Tis greatly wise to know, before we're told, The melancholy news, that we grow old. Autumnal LYCE carries in her face Memento mori to each public place.
Стр. 98 - One to destroy, is murder by the law ; And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe ; To murder thousands, takes a specious name, War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame.
Стр. 4 - Nor is that term unapplicable to graver compositions. Ethics, Heathen and Christian, and the scriptures themselves, are, in a great measure, a satire on the weakness and iniquity of men ; and some part of that satire is in verse too. Nay, in the first ages, philosophy and poetry were the same thing ; Wisdom wore no other dress : so that, I hope, these Satires will be the more easily pardoned that misfortune by the severe.
Стр. 100 - Some future strain, in which the muse shall tell How science dwindles, and how volumes swell. How commentators each dark passage shun, And hold their farthing candle to the sun.
Стр. 24 - As in smooth oil the razor best is whet, So wit is by politeness sharpest set : Their want of edge from their offence is seen ; Both pain us least when exquisitely keen.
Стр. 128 - Teeth edg'd with death, and crowding rows on rows ; What hideous fangs on either side arise ! And what a deep abyss between them lies ! Mete with thy lance, and with thy plummet sound, The one how long, the other how profound.

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