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.

SATIRES, EPISTLES, AND ODES OF HORACE.

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.

Waller was smooth; but Dryden taught to join
The varying verse, the full resounding line,
The long majestic march, and energy divine.

Book ii. Epistle i. Line 266.

Book ii. Epistle i. Line 280.

The last and greatest art, the art to blot.

The many-headed monster of the pit.

Book ii. Epistle i. Line 304.

Years following years steal something every day;

At last they steal us from ourselves away.

The vulgar boil, the learned roast an egg.

Book ii. Epistle ii. Line 72.

Book ii. Epistle ii. Line 85.

Book ii. Epistle ii. Line 163.

Words that wise Bacon or brave Raleigh spoke.

Vain was the chief's, the sage's pride!
They had no poet, and they died.

Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.

Epilogue to the Satires. Dialogue i. Line 136.

Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night :
God said, 'Let Newton be!' and all was light.

Epitaph intended for Sir Isaac Newton.

THE DUNCIAD.

O thou! whatever title please thine ear,
Dean, Drapier, Bickerstaff, or Gulliver!
Whether thou choose Cervantes' serious air,
Or laugh and shake in Rabelais' easy-chair,

Booki. Line 21.

N

And solid pudding against empty praise.

Book i. Line 54.

Now night descending, the proud scene was o'er,
But lived in Settle's numbers one day more.

Book i. Line 89.

Sleepless themselves to give their readers sleep.

Book i. Line 94.

Next o'er his books his eyes began to roll
In pleasing memory of all he stole.

Book i. Line 127.

How index-learning turns no student pale,
Yet holds the eel of science by the tail.

Book i. Line 279.

And gentle Dulness ever loves a joke. Book ii. Line 34.

All crowd, who foremost shall be damned to fame.

Book iii. Line 158.

Silence, ye wolves! while Ralph to Cynthia howls, And makes night hideous ;*-answer him ye owls.

Book iii. Line 165.

A wit with dunces, and a dunce with wits.

Book iv. Line 92.

The right divine of kings to govern wrong.

Stuff the head

Book iv. Line 188.

With all such reading as was never read ;
For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it,
And write about it, goddess, and about it.

Book iv. Line 249.

* Making night hideous.

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 4.