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aetas againſt Alluding atque becauſe beft beſt cafe cauſe Cicero Court courtiers divine Dunciad eaſe Engliſh EPISTLE ev'n ev'ry expreffed expreffion faid fame faſhion fatire feems fenfe fhall fhew fhould fibi Fig's firft firſt fome fomething fool foon fpirit freſh ftill fubject fuch fuperior fure genius give himſelf honeft honour Horace imitation infinuate juft juſt King laft laſt Laws leaſt lefs Lord ludicra mafter Minifter moft moſt Mufe muſt nihil NOTES numbers nunc obferved occafion paffion perfon Pindaric pleaſe pleaſure poem Poet Poet's poetry Pope Pow'r praiſe prefent profe purpoſe Pythagorea quae quam quid Quintilian quod racter reafon rhyme ridicule rifu Satire ſee ſhall ſtage ſtand ſtate ſtill ſuch tafte taſte thefe themſelves theſe thing thofe thoſe thought thro tibi tranflation underſtand uſed verfe verſe Virtue whofe whoſe worfe worſe write
Page 9 - A virgin tragedy, an orphan muse.' If I dislike it, 'Furies, death and rage!' If I approve, 'Commend it to the stage.
Page 25 - Fed with soft Dedication all day long, Horace and he went hand in hand in song. His library, where busts of poets dead...
Page 275 - Seen him, uncumber'd with the venal tribe, Smile without art, and win without a bribe. Would he oblige me? let me only find, He does not think me what he thinks mankind.
Page 8 - And curses wit, and poetry, and Pope. Friend to my life ! (which did not you prolong, The world had wanted many an idle song) What drop or nostrum can this plague remove?
Page 29 - Yet why? that father held it for a rule, It was a sin to call our neighbour fool: That harmless mother thought no wife a whore: Hear this, and spare his family, James Moore! Unspotted names, and memorable long! If there be force in virtue, or in song.
Page 43 - My head and heart thus flowing thro' my quill, Verse-man or prose-man, term me which you will, Papist or Protestant, or both between, Like good Erasmus in an honest mean, In moderation placing all my glory, While Tories call me Whig, and Whigs a Tory.
Page 12 - It is" the slaver kills, and not the bite. A fool quite angry is quite innocent : Alas ! 'tis ten times worse when they repent. One dedicates in high heroic prose, And ridicules beyond a hundred foes : One from all Grub-street will my fame defend, And, more abusive, calls himself my friend. This prints my letters, that expects a bribe, And others roar aloud,
Page 31 - Me, let the tender office long engage To rock the cradle of reposing age, With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death; Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep a while one parent from the sky ! On cares like these, if length of days attend, May Heaven, to bless those days, preserve my friend!