The Monthly Review, Or, Literary Journal, Volume 21

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Page 207 - In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung, The floors of plaster, and the walls of dung, On once a flock-bed, but repair'd with straw, With tape-tied curtains, never meant to draw, The George and Garter dangling from that bed Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red, Great Villiers lies — alas!
Page 25 - ... his humanity, courtesy and affability was such, that he would have been thought to have been bred in the best courts, but that his good nature, charity and delight in doing good, and in communicating all he knew, exceeded that breeding.
Page 303 - From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night, The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fix'd sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch...
Page 207 - Of mimic'd statesmen and their merry king. No wit to flatter left of all his store! No fool to laugh at, which he valued more. There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends, And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends.
Page 543 - All the dexterity is in the good cookery and management of them...
Page 25 - His style in all his writings seems harsh and sometimes obscure, which is not wholly to be imputed to the abstruse subjects of which he commonly treated, out of the paths trod by other men, but to a little undervaluing the beauty of a...
Page 205 - He laughed himself from court; then sought relief By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief; For, spite of him, the weight of business fell On Absalom, and wise Achitophel ; Thus, wicked but in will, of means bereft, He left not faction, but of that was left.
Page 549 - IMAGINE to yourself a little squat, uncourtly figure of a Doctor Slop, of about four feet and a half perpendicular height, with a breadth of back, and a sesquipedality of belly, which might have done honour to a Serjeant in the horse-guards.
Page 114 - ... double of that by the water ; for the image of the object, though not at all refracted, was yet as much infected with prifmatic colours, as if it had been feen through n glafs wedge only, whofe refracting angle was near thirty degrees.
Page 190 - Twas from the bottle King deriv'd his wit, Drank till he could not talk, and then he writ. Let no coiPd ferjeant touch the facred juice, But leave it to the bards for better ufe : Let the grave judges too the glafs forbear, Who never fing and dance but once a year. This truth once known, our poets take the hint...

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