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Off with his head ! so much for Buckingham !
Act iv. Sc. 3. With clink of hammers closing rivets up.* Act v. Sc. 3.
'HE King of France, with forty thousand men
From the Pigges Corantoe, 1642.
RICHARD SAVAGE. 1698-1743.
E lives to build, not boast a generous race;
The Bastard. Line 7.
DR. GEORGE SEWELL.
life are gone,
all the blandishments of The coward sneaks to death, the brave live on.
* Cf. Shakspere, Richard III. Act iv. Chorus
ISAAC BICKERSTAFF. Circa 1735
ERHAPS it was right to dissemble your love,
'Tis Well its No Worse.
Love in a Village. Act i. Sc. 3.
JONATHAN SWIFT. 1667-1745.
I'VE often wished that I had clear,
For life, six hundred pounds a year,
Imitation of Horace. B. ii. Sat. 6.
* If naebody care for me,
Burns. I hae a Wife o' my Ain. + As geographers crowd into the edges of their maps, parts of the world which they do not know about, adding notes in the margin to the effect, that beyond this lies nothing but sandy deserts full of wild beasts and unapproachable bogs.-PLUTARCH. Theseus.
And he gave it for his opinion, that whoever could make two ears of corn, or two blades of grass, to grow upon a spot of ground where only one grew before, would deserve better of mankind, and do more essential service to his country, than the whole race of politicians put together.
Bread is the staff of life.
Tale of a Tub.
WILLIAM CONGREVE. 1669-1729.
MUSIC hath charms to soothe the savage breast,
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
The Mourning Bride. Act i. Sc. 1. By magic numbers and persuasive sound.
Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,
For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds,
Ibid. Act v. Sc. 12.
If there's delight in love, 't is when I see
The Way of the World. Act ii. Sc. 12. Ferdinand Mendez Pinto was but a type of thee, thou liar of the first magnitude. Love for Love. Act ii. Sc. 5. NICHOLAS ROWE. 1673-1718.
S she not more than painting can express,
The Fair Penitent. Act ii. Sc. I. Is this that haughty, gallant, gay Lothario?
AWAKE, my St. John leave all meaner things
To low ambition, and the pride of kings.
Epistle i. Line 1.
Epistle i. Line 13. Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate.
Epistle i. Line 77.
* And justify the ways of God to men.
Paradise Lost, B. i. L. 26.
Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food,
Epistle i. Line 83.
Epistle i. Line 87. Hope springs eternal in the human breast : Man never is, but always to be blest. The soul, uneasy, and confin'd from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come. Lo, the poor Indian ! whose untutored mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind.
Epistle i. Line 95. Far as the solar walk or milky way. Epistle i. Line 102.
But thinks, admitted to that equal sky,
Epistle i. Line 111.
Epistle i. Line 123. Die of a rose in aromatic pain. Epistle i. Line 200.
The spider's touch how exquisitely fine!
Epistle i. Line 217.
* Much like a subtle spider which doth sit,
In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide;