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.

The last and greatest art, the art to blot.

Book ii. Epistle i. Line 280.

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.

Book iv. Ode 9.

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.

Book iv. Line 188.

Stuff the head

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.

Led by my hand, he sauntered Europe round,
And gathered every vice on Christian ground.

Book iv. Line 311.

Judicious drank, and greatly daring dined.

Book iv. Line 318.

Stretched on the rack of a too easy chair,
And heard thy everlasting yawn confess
The pains and penalties of idleness.

E'en Palinurus nodded at the helm.

Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires,
And unawares Morality expires,

Book iv. Line 342.

Book iv. Line 14.

Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine ;
Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine!
Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos, is restored;
Light dies before thy uncreating word:
Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall;
And universal darkness buries all.

Book iv. Line 643.

ELOISA TO ABELARD.

Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banished lover, or some captive maid.

Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.

Line 51.

Line 57.

Curse on all laws but those which love has made,
Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.

Line 74

And love the offender yet detest the offence.

Line 192.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Line 207.

One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight;
Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight.*

Line 273.

See my lips tremble and my eyeballs roll;
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul.

He best can paint them who shall feel them most.

* Priests, tapers, temples, swam before my sight.

Ibid.

EDMUND SMITH. Phædra and Hippolytus.

Vital spark of heavenly flame,

Quit, O quit this mortal frame.

The Dying Christian to his Soul.

Hark! they whisper; angels say,

Sister Spirit, come away!

Ibid.

Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly !

O grave! where is thy victory?

O death! where is thy sting?

Ibid.

Ibid.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die;

Steal from the world, and not a stone

Tell where I lie.

Ode on Solitude.

What beckoning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps and points to yonder glade ?

To the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady. Line 1.

By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed,
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned,
By strangers honoured, and by strangers mourned.

And bear about the mockery of woe

Ibid. Line 51.

To midnight dances, and the public show.

Ibid. Line 57.

How loved, how honoured once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot ;