Illustrations of Sterne: With Other Essays and Verses. By John Ferriar, M.D.

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Cadell and Davies, London, 1798 - 314 páginas
 

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Página 207 - Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth Wheels her pale course ; they, on their mirth and dance Intent, with jocund music charm his ear; At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds.
Página 176 - He used often to say, that if he were to choose a place to die in, it should be an inn ; it looking like a pilgrim's going home, to whom this world was all as an inn, and who was weary of the noise and confusion in it x.
Página 301 - We retrench the superfluities of mankind. The world is avaritious, and I hate avarice. A covetous fellow, like a jack-daw, steals what he was never made to enjoy, for the sake of hiding it. These are the robbers of mankind, for money was made for the free-hearted and generous, and where is the injury of taking from another, what he hath not the heart to make use of?
Página 199 - As when a gryphon through the wilderness With winged course, o'er hill or moory dale, Pursues the Arimaspian, who by stealth Had from his wakeful custody purloined The guarded gold...
Página 124 - But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes And perfect witness of all-judging Jove; As he pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.
Página 279 - And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore, In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood.
Página 66 - Shall we for ever make new books, as apothecaries make new mixtures, by pouring only out of one vessel into another? Are we for ever to be twisting, and untwisting the same rope? for ever in the same track — for ever at the same pace?
Página 64 - When to myself I act, and smile, With pleasing thoughts the time beguile, By a brook-side or wood so green, Unheard, unsought for, or unseen, A thousand pleasures do me bless And crown my soul with happiness. All my joys besides are folly : Nought so sweet as melancholy...
Página 67 - Rome, we skim off the cream of other men's wits, pick the choice flowers of their tilled gardens to set out our own sterile plots. . . . [W]e weave the same web still, twist the same rope again and again.
Página 97 - There is no small degree of malicious craft in fixing upon a season to give a mark of enmity and illwill: a word, — a look, which at one time would make no impression at another time wounds the heart; and like a shaft flying with the wind, pierces deep, which, with its own natural force, would scarce have reached the object aimed at.

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