A collection of poems, by several hands [ed. by R. Dodsley]. [2 other copies of vols. 5,6].

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Page 106 - Shakespear's warblings wild? Whom on the winding Avon's willow'd banks Fair fancy found, and bore the smiling babe To a close cavern: (still the shepherds shew The sacred place, whence with religious awe They hear, returning from the field at eve, Strange whisp'rings of sweet musick thro...
Page 163 - And fee, the fprighdy dance is now begun ! Now here, now there the giddy maze they run, Now with flow fteps they pace the circling ring, Now all confus'd, too fwift for fight they fpring ; So, in a wheel with rapid fury toft, The undiftinguifh'd fpokes are in the motion loft. The dancer here no more requires a guide, To no ftrift fteps his nimble feet are ty'd, The Mufe's...
Page 101 - Lincoln's meads; Can the great artist, though with taste supreme Endued, one beauty to this Eden add ? Though he, by rules unfetter'd, boldly scorns Formality and Method, round and square Disdaining, plans irregularly great...
Page 321 - Tis her corrective part, To calm the wild diforders of the heart. 90 She points the arduous height where Glory lies, And teaches mad Ambition to be wife...
Page 309 - Thrice hail, thou heav'n-taught warbler ! last and best " Of all the train ! Poet, in whom conjoin'd " All that to ear, or heart, or head, could yield " Rapture ; harmonious, manly, clear, sublime.
Page 251 - And though it was a rule in vogue, If one man call'd another rogue, The party injur'd might reply, And on his foe retort the lie ; Yet what accru'd from all his labour, But foul difhonour to his neighbour ? And he's a moft unchriftian elf, Who others damns to fave himfelf.
Page 199 - Or lending, like POPE, to be paid by a cudgel, If ever thou didft, or wilt ever befriend me, From thefe, and fuch evils, APOLLO, defend me } And let me be rather but honeft with no-wit, Than a noify, nonfenfical, half-witted poet.
Page 151 - Oft' will the cobweb ornaments catch hold On the approaching button rough with gold, Nor force, nor art can then the bonds divide. When once th' intangled Gordian knot is ty'd.
Page 333 - SATIRE'S bow refign'd the founding lyre : Each arrow polifh'd in his hand was feen, And as it grew more polifh'd, grew more keen. His art, conceal'd in ftudy'd negligence, 365 Politely fly, cajol'd the foes of fenfe : He feem'd to fport and trifle with the dart, But while he fported, drove it to the heart.
Page 155 - Reflefted back from gems, and eyes below : Unnumber'd fans to cool the crowded fair With breathing Zephyrs move the circling air : The fprightly fiddle, and the founding lyre, Each youthful...

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