Vicar of Wakefield - Continued. Chapter xxiv. When lovely woman stoops to folly, The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize. TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 1721-1771. Ode to Independence. Thy spirit, Independence, let me share; Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky THOMAS PERCY. 1728-1811. Reliques of English Poetry. The Baffled Knight. He that wold not when he might, He shall not when he wolda. The Friar of Orders Gray. Weep no more, lady, weep no more, For violets plucked the sweetest showers Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, One foot on sea, and one on shore, From Byrd's Psalmes, Sonets, etc., 1588. Such perfect joy therein I find, As far exceeds all earthly bliss, That God and Nature hath assigned. Though much I want that most would have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave. * My mind to me an empire is ROBERT SOUTHWELL. 1560-1595. Guy of Gisborne. He that had neyther been kithe nor kin BEILBY PORTEUS. 1731-1808. Death, a Poem. Line 154. Millions a hero. JAMES BEATTIE. 1735-1766. The Minstrel. Book i. St. 1. Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar? The Hermit. At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove. He thought as a sage, but he felt as a man. Epigram. The Bucks had dined. How hard their lot who neither won nor lost. CHURCHILL. THRALE. BOOTH. 209 CHARLES CHURCHILL. 1741-1764. The Rosciad. Line 322. He mouths a sentence, as curs mouth a bone. Line 861. But spite of all the criticizing elves, Those who would make us feel — must feel themselves. MRS. THRALE. 1740-1822. Three Warnings. The tree of deepest root is found BARTON BOOTH. 1681-1733. Song. True as a needle to the pole, No. WILLIAM COWPER. 1731-1800. Table Talk. Is base in kind, and born to be a slave. Freedom has a thousand charms to show, That slaves, howe'er contented, never know. The Progress of Error. How much a dunce, that has been sent to roam, Excels a dunce, that has been kept at home. Truth. Just knows and knows no more, her Bible true, A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew. Retirement. An idler is a watch that wants both hands; The Yearly Distress. A kick, that scarce would move a horse, THE TASK. Book i. The Sofa. Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds Exhilarate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid Nature. |