The Works of the English Poets: SwiftH. Hughs, 1779 |
常見字詞
againſt anſwer Apollo Becauſe Behold beſt Cadenus cafe call'd cauſe croud Dean dear Delany Dublin ears elfe eyes face fafe faid fame fatire fcorn fecret feen fent feven fhall fhame fhew fhine fide filks filver fince fing fink firft firſt fkies fome foon foul fpirits ftill fubject fuch fure fwear give grace greateſt himſelf honour houſe Jove juft juſt lady laft laſt lefs lord moft moſt Mufe muft Muſe muſt ne'er never night nofe numbers nymph o'er obferve paffion Pallas paſs pleaſe poets praiſe prefent raiſe reaſon reft rhyme rife ſay ſee ſhall ſhe Sheridan ſhine ſhould ſkies ſkin ſmall ſtand ſtate Stella ſtill Swift tell thee thefe theſe thofe THOMAS SHERIDAN thoſe thou thouſand twill uſe Vaneffa verfe virtue WHIG wife Wood worſe
熱門章節
第 25 頁 - You are no Text for my Handling, so take that from me: I was never taken for a Conjurer before, I'd have you to know.
第 265 頁 - Down through a thing you call a vale, Like tears adown a wrinkled cheek, Like rain along a blade of leek : And this you call your sweet meander, Which might be suck'd up by a gander, Could he but force his nether bill To scoop the channel of the rill.
第 178 頁 - Call'd every power to ease my pains ; Then Stella ran to my relief, With cheerful face and inward grief; And, though by Heaven's severe decree She suffers hourly more than me, No cruel master could require, From slaves...
第 22 頁 - Then the Bell rung, and I went down to put my Lady to Bed, And, God knows, I thought my Money was as safe as my Maidenhead. So when I came up again, I found my Pocket feel very light, But when I search'd, and miss'd my Purse, Lord! I thought I should have sunk outright: Lord! Madam, says Mary, how d'ye do? Indeed, says I, never worse; But pray, Mary, can you tell what I have done with my Purse!
第 323 頁 - I speak without a tongue. Nought but one thing can confound me, Many voices joining round me; Then I fret, and rave, and gabble, Like the labourers of Babel. Now I am a dog, or cow, I can bark, or I can low; I can bleat, or I can sing, Like the warblers of the spring. Let the lovesick bard complain...
第 149 頁 - Tis true — then why should I repine To see my life so fast decline ? But why obscurely here alone, Where I am neither loved nor known ? My state of health none care to learn ; My life is here no soul's concern ; And those with whom I now converse, Without a tear will tend my hearse. Removed from kind Arbuthnot's aid, Who knows his art, but not his trade, Preferring his regard for me Before his credit or his fee.
第 99 頁 - I chopp'd so fast, that few there minded. My emblem, the laborious sun, Saw all these mighty labours done Before one race of his was run. All this perform'd by Robert Hewit: What mortal else could e'er go through it!
第 90 頁 - Not thinking it is levee-day, And find his honour in a pound, Hemm'd by a triple circle round, Chequer'd with ribbons blue and green: How should I thrust myself between?
第 61 頁 - Triumphant Tories and desponding Whigs Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs. Box'd in a chair, the beau impatient sits, While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits, And ever and anon with frightful din The leather sounds ; he trembles from within...
第 89 頁 - I'VE often wish'd that I had clear For life six hundred pounds a year, A handsome house to lodge a friend, A river at my garden's end, A terrace-walk, and half a rood Of land set out to plant a wood. Well, now I have all this, and more, I ask not to increase my store ; But here a grievance seems to lie, All this is mine but till I die; I can't but think 'twould sound more clever, To me and to my heirs for ever.