| Robert Dodsley - English poetry - 1755 - 360 pages
...the great, Not Walpolc's felf directing Europe's fate; Still let him load ambition's thorny fhrine. Fame be his portion, and contentment mine. But if the gods, finifter ftill, deny To live in Ickworth, let me there but die ; Thy hand to clofe my eyes in death's long night, Thy image to attraft... | |
| Robert Dodsley - English poetry - 1765 - 412 pages
...the great, Not Walpole's felf, directing Europe's fate ; Still let him load Ambition's thorny fhrine, Fame be his portion, and contentment mine. But if the gods, finifter ftill, deny To live in Ickworth, let me there but die; Thy hand to clofe my eyes in death's long night, Thy image to attract... | |
| 1782 - 388 pages
...the great, Not Walpole's felf, direfting Europe's fate ; Still let him load Ambition's thorny fhrine, Fame be his portion, and contentment mine. But if the gods, finifter fiill, deny To live in Ickworth, let me there but die ; Thy hand to clofe my eyes in death's long night,... | |
| John Bell - English poetry - 1789 - 426 pages
...peace destroys. I envy not the foremost of the great, Not Walpole's self, directing Europe's fate; Still let him load Ambition's thorny shrine, Fame...his portion, and contentment mine. But if the gods, sinister still, deny To live in Ickworth, let me there but die ; Thy image to attract their latest... | |
| Lady Mary Wortley Montagu - Authors, English - 1837 - 480 pages
...peace destroys. I envy not the foremost of the great, Not Walpole's self, directing Europe's fate ; Still let him load ambition's thorny shrine, Fame...his portion, and contentment mine. But if the gods, sinister still, deny * To live in Ickworth, let me there but die ; Thy hands to close my eyes in Death's... | |
| Lady Mary Wortley Montagu - 1887 - 622 pages
...peace destroys. I envy not the foremost of the great, Not Walpole's self, directing Europe's fate ; Still let him load ambition's thorny shrine, Fame be his portion, and contentment mine. Bat if the gods, sinister still, deny To live in Ickworth, let me there but die ; Thy hands to close... | |
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