A Collection of Poems: In Four Volumes

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Robert Dodsley
J. Hughs, 1755 - English poetry
 

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Page 109 - A thousand widows' shrieks I hear. Give me another horse, I cry, Lo ! the base Gallic squadrons fly.
Page 246 - With rhet'ric fuch as courts require, We'll try to keep the reader warm, * And fift the matter from the form. Virtue and focial love, he faid, And honour from the land were fled; That PATRIOTS now, like other folks, Were made the butt of vulgar jokes ; While OPPOSITION dropp'd her creft, And courted pow'r for wealth and reft.
Page 74 - Priest christens all a Right Divine. When at the altar a new Monarch kneels...
Page 203 - I hear the solemn sound, Which midnight echoes waft around, And sighing gales repeat. Fav'rite of Pallas! I attend, And, faithful to thy summons, bend At Wisdom's awful seat.
Page 251 - But whether this was truth, or whim, He would not fay ; the doubt with him (And no great harm he hop'd) was how Th' enlighten'd world would take it now; If they admitted it, 'twas well, If not, he never talk'd of hell, Nor even hop'd to change men's meafures, Or frighten ladies from their pleafures.
Page 3 - Ev'n on her fhade a confcious look fhc threw: Then all around her caft a carelefs glance, To mark what gazing eyes her beauty drew. As they came near, before that other maid Approaching decent, eagerly...
Page 100 - Listening to dashing waves, and sea-mews clang High-hovering o'er his head, who views beneath The dolphin dancing o'er the level brine, Feels more true bliss than the proud admiral, Amid his vessels bright with burnish'd gold And silken streamers, tho' his lordly nod Ten thousand war-worn mariners revere.
Page 125 - But now, whatever poets write, 'Tis fure the cafe is alter'd quite, Virtue no more in rural plains, Or innocence, or peace remains} But vice is in the cottage found, And country girls are oft...
Page 105 - Wifdom's hoary head, with crutch in hand, Trembling, and bent with age ; laft Virtue's felf Smiling, in white array'd, who with her leads Sweet Innocence, that prattles by her fide, A naked boy ! — Harrafs'd with fear I flop, I gaze, when Virtue thus...
Page 168 - He digs no longer in th' exhaufted mine, But feeks preferment, as the laft refort, Cringes each morn at levees, bows at court, And, from the hand he hates, implores fupport...

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