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Halaman 9 - To know but this, that Thou art good, And that myself am blind; Yet gave me, in this dark estate, To see the good from ill; And binding Nature fast in fate, Left free the human will. What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This, teach me more than Hell to shun, That, more than Heaven pursue.
Halaman 9 - Let not this weak, unknowing hand Presume thy bolts to throw, And deal damnation round the land On each I judge thy foe.
Halaman 84 - True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance. 'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence ; The sound must seem an echo to the sense.
Halaman 110 - And screen'd in shades from day's detested glare, She sighs for ever on her pensive bed, Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head.
Halaman 90 - Tis not enough your counsel still be true ; Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do ; Men must be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown proposed as things forgot.
Halaman 14 - Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise: Born with whate'er could win it from the wise, Women and fools must like him or he dies; Though wondering senates hung on all he spoke, The club must hail him master of the joke.
Halaman 99 - To one man's treat, but for another's ball ? When Florio speaks, what virgin could withstand, If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand ? With varying vanities, from ev'ry part, They shift the moving toyshop of their heart; Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword-knots strive, Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive.
Halaman 81 - Th' increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes, Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise ! A perfect judge will read each work of wit With the same spirit that its author writ ; Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind ; Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight, The generous pleasure to be charm'd with wit.
Halaman 102 - But chiefly Love — to Love an altar built, Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt. There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves, And all the trophies of his former loves ; With tender billet-doux he lights the pyre, And breathes three am'rous sighs to raise the fire.