The Thimble: An Heroi-comical Poem, in Four Cantos

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J. Shuckburgh, and sold, 1744 - 27 pages
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Page 18 - Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure ; Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure ; Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; Fought all his battles o'er again ; And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain.
Page 20 - Zeal he (hot the Dart, That fatal lodg'd deep funk in Fannias Heart. Then thrice was heard the wounded Virgin's Groan ; And thrice the Parrot fcream'd his hideous Moan ; Thrice bark'd the Lap-Dog from his downy Bed, And thrice the Kitten rear'd her drowfy Head ! Alas ! how ihort-liv'd is all human Power ! The Pride of Years is blafted in an Hour : All the gay Plans of Conqueft, all the Schemes, The Maid had form'd, are fled like Morning Dreams ; The Baron ihall pofièfs her Beauty's Store, And Fanny...
Page 2 - Fanniuj that waft wont to wield The pointed Spear, without the bofly Shield] Thrice happy Fannia, in the Gift beftow'd, The Thimble Shield, the Labour of a God ! But now her Charms had fwell'd the Trump of Fame, And ipread to diftant Tea-Tables her Name ; IMITATIONS. Envy itfelf was dumb, in Wonder loft, And Factions ftrove which ihould applaud you moft.
Page 3 - Twas he could all the Tender Virgins move, Smooth were his Words, for ev'ry Word was Love: Loaded with Lace, and deck'd in silken State, He strutted, insignificantly great! Affected pomp, and Equipage, and Shew, And all the Nothings that compound a Beau! He danc'd, and sung, took Snuff, and crack'da Fan, And at the best but border 'd upon Man.
Page 1 - ... Reader, to whose Candour and Judgment I submit the following Poem." [vii-viii] What Art Divine the shining Thimble found, To shield the Finger militant around, Now first my Verse reveals: Ye Virgins, hear, Attend, ye Matrons, and ye Belles, give Ear; For you the Infant Muse essays to sing, For you she flutters on her tender Wing; To you the tributary Strains belong, "Then take at once the Poet and the Song.
Page 3 - ... Scar . . . Unhappy Fannia, that wast wont to wield The pointed Spear, without the bossy Shield! Thrice happy Fannia, in the Gift bestow'd, The Thimble Shield, the Labour of a God! But now her Charms had swell'd the Trump of Fame, And spread to distant Tea-Tables her Name. [p. 2] For Fannia triumphed in her Beauty's Arts, And view'd with Scorn whole Hecatombs of Hearts! But...
Page 7 - Embryo Flower; Six Needles in tremendous Range appear, Each a dire Emblem of the Warrior's Spear! A while...
Page 8 - ... Gift (as antient Memoirs say) A just Reward for many a well-work'd Day! With active haste her nimble Fingers move, Curl the gay Vine and form the mimick Grove; But as her Needle with resistless Force, Through doubl'd Plaits push'd on its rapid Course, The treach'rous Weapon broke, the headless Dart Her Finger gor'd, and pierc'd her to the Heart; The purple Blood distain'd her Arm around, And half her Soul came rushing through the Wound.
Page 11 - Lies fbme near Friend upon his dying Bed ? Or has the Light'ning ftruck thy Monkey dead ? Has the fell Mercer juft produc'd his Score, And having...
Page 21 - Needle still extend thy Fame, And Ages yet to come admire thy Name; The...

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