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Three Poets, in three distant ages born,
PREACHED as never sure to preach again,
Love breathing Thanks and Praise.
ND so I penned
It down, until at last it came to be, For length and breadth, the bigness which you see.
Apology for his Book. Some said, “ John, print it,' others said, “Not so,' Some said, “ It might do good,' others said, 'No.'
The Slough of Despond.
Pilgrim's Progress. 164
WILLIAM KING. 1663-1712.
Upon a Giant's Angling.
Orpheus and Eurydice. Line 134.
EARL OF ROCHESTER.
HERE lies our sovereign lord the king,
He never says a foolish thing,
Written on the Bedchamber Door of Charles II.
Artemisia in the Town to Chloe in the Country.
EARL OF ROSCOMMON.
IMMODEST words admit of no defence,
, For want of decency is want of sense.
Essay on Translated Verse.
* And let us mind, faint heart ne'er won
BURNS to Dr. Blacklock.
THOMAS OTWAY. 1651-1685.
WOMAN! lovely woman! Nature made thee
To temper man; we had been brutes without you. Angels are painted fair, to look like you : There's in you all that we believe of heaven; Amazing brightness, purity, and truth, Eternal joy, and everlasting love.
Venice Preserved. Act i. Sc. I.
F all those arts in which the wise excel,
Essay on Poetry.
Read Homer once, and you can read no more,
NATHANIEL LEE. 1650-1692.
THEN he will talk—good gods
, how he will talk !
Alexander the Great Act i. Sc. 3.
See the conquering hero comes,
Ibid. Act ii. Sc. I.
'Tis beauty calls and glory leads the way.
Ibid. Activ. Sc. 2. When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war.
Ibid. Act iv. Sc. 2.
DR. WALTER POPE.
The Old Man's W'ish.
JOHN NORRIS. 1657-1711.
OW fading are the joys we dote upon !
Like apparitions seen and gone; But those which soonest take their flight Are the most exquisite and strong ;
Like angel's visits, short and bright, Mortality's too weak to bear them long. The Parting
HEREVER God erects a house of prayer,
The Devil always builds a chapel there ; +
The True-Born Englishman. Part i. Line 1.
RICHARD GIFFORD. 1725-1807.
VERSE sweetens toil, however rude the sound ;
All at her work the village maiden sings, Nor, while she turns the giddy wheel aro
round, Revolves the sad vicissitudes of things.
* Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare;
MARTIAL, Ep. 1. xxxiii.
+ See Proverbs, page 391.