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Men must be taught as if you taught them not,
And things unknown proposed as things forgot.

Part iii. Line 15.

The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read,
With loads of learned lumber in his head.

Part iii. Line 53.

For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

Part iii. Line 66.

Led by the light of the Mæonian star. Part iii. Line 89.

Content if hence the unlearned their wants may view,
The learned reflect on what before they knew.*
Part iii. Line 179.


What dire offence from amorous causes springs,
What mighty contests rise from trivial things,

Canto i. Line 1.

And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.

Canto i. Line 134.

On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore.

Canto ii. Line 7.

If to her share some female errors fall,
Look on her face, and you'll forget them all.

Canto ii. Line 17.

* 'Indocti discant et ament meminisse periti.'

This Latin hexameter, which is commonly ascribed to Horace, appeared for the first time as an epigraph to President Hénault's Abrégé Chronologique, and in the preface to the third edition of this work, Hénault acknowledges that he had given it as a translation of this couplet.

Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare,
And beauty draws us with a single hair.*

Canto ii. Line 27.

Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey, Dost sometimes counsel take-and sometimes tea. Canto iii. Line 7.

At every word a reputation dies.

Canto iii. Line 16.

The hungry judges soon the sentence sign,
And wretches hang, that jurymen may dine.

Canto iii. Line 21.

Coffee, which makes the politician wise,
And see through all things with his half-shut eyes.
Canto iii. Line 117

The meeting points the sacred hair dissever
From the fair head, forever, and forever!

Canto iii. Line 153.

Canto v. Line 34.

Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.


Prologue to the Satires.

Shut, shut the door, good John.

Line 1.

Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.

Line 5.

E'en Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me. Line 12.

* She knows her man, and when you rant and swear,

Can draw you to her with a single hair.

DRYDEN. Persius, Satire i.

Is there a parson much bemused in beer,
A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer,

A clerk foredoomed his father's soul to cross,
Who pens a stanza when he should engross.

Line 15.

Friend to my life, which did not you prolong,
The world had wanted many an idle song. Line 27.

Obliged by hunger and request of friends.

Line 44.

Fired that the house rejects him, "sdeath I'll print it, And shame the fools.'

No creature smarts so little as a fool.

Destroy his fib, or sophistry in vain !
The creature's at his dirty work again.

As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame,

Line 61.

Line 84.

Line 91.

I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came. Line 127.

Pretty! in amber to observe the forms,

Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms!

The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare,
But wonder how the devil they got there.

Line 169.

And he whose fustian's so sublimely bad,
It is not poetry, but prose run mad.

Line 187.

Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne.

Line 199.

Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And without sneering teach the rest to sneer;
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike.

By flatterers besieged,

Line 201.

And so obliging that he ne'er obliged;
Like Cato, give his little senate laws,
And sit attentive to his own applause.

Line 207.

Who but must laugh, if such a man there be?
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he?

Cursed be the verse, how well soe'er it flow,
That tends to make one worthy man my foe.

Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel,
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?

Line 213.

Line 283.

Line 307.

Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,
As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.

Line 314.

Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.

Line 333.

Me, let the tender office long engage

To rock the cradle of reposing age,

With lenient arts extend a mother's breath,
Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death;
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,

And keep awhile one parent from the sky. Line 419.


Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day.

Book ii. Satire i. Line 6.

Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet
To run a muck, and tilt at all I meet.

Book ii. Satire i. Line 69.

But touch me, and no minister so sore;
Whoe'er offends, at some unlucky time
Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme;
Sacred to ridicule his whole life long,
And the sad burden of some merry song.

Book ii. Satire i. Line 76.

There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl,
The feast of reason and the flow of soul.

Book ii. Satire i. Line 127.

For I, who hold sage Homer's rule the best,
Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.*

Book ii. Satire ii. Line 159.

Above all Greek, above all Roman fame.†

Book . Epistle i. Line 26.

The mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease.

Book ii. Epistle i. Line 108.

One simile that solitary shines

In the dry desert of a thousand lines.

Book ii. Epistle i. Line 111.

Book i. Epistle i. Line 201.

Who says in verse what others say in prose.

* See the Odyssey, Book xv. line 84.

† Above any Greek or Roman name.

DRYDEN. Upon the Death of Lord Hastings.

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