« VorigeDoorgaan »
1709-1773. Prologue to Thomson's Coriolanus. For his chaste Muse employed her heaven-taught lyre None but the noblest passions to inspire, Not one immoral, one corrupted thought, One line, which dying he could wish to blot.
Soliloquy on a Beauty in the Country. Where none admire, 't is useless to excel; Where none are beaux, 't is vain to be a belle.
We every bliss must gain;
That never feels a pain.
Barbarossa. Act v. Sc. 3.
Fable IX. The Farmer; the Spaniel, and the Cat.
Can't I another's face commend,
Fable X. The Spider and the Bee.
But from the hoop's bewitching round,
The Happy Marriage. Time still, as he flies, adds increase to her truth, And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.*
The Gamester. Act iii. Sc. 4. ”T is now the summer of your youth: time has not cropt the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.
* What envious Time takes from my face
Verses by Stella.
Written on the Window of an Inn.
Where'er his stages may have been,
His warmest welcome at an inn.
hear a tale So sad, so tender, and so true.
far whiter than the driven snow,
1716-1779. Prologue on Quitting the Stage in 1776, 10th June. Their cause I plead, plead it in heart and mind; A fellow-feeling makes one wondrous kind.
On the Death of Mr. Pelham.
On a Distant Prospect of Eton College.
Ah, fields beloved in vain !
A stranger yet to pain !
And snatch a fearful joy.
The sunshine of the breast.
Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play;
Nor care beyond to-day.
And moody madness laughing wild,
Amid severest woe.
Where ignorance is bliss, ’T is folly to be wise.
Progress of Poesy.
i. 3. O’er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Love.
iii. 1. Ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.
ii. 3. Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
ii. 1. Give ample room, and verge enough.*
ii. 2. Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm.
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight.
iii. 3. And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
Elegy in a Country Churchyard. The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The short and simple annals of the poor.
* I have a soul, that like an ample shield,
Sebastian, Act i. Sc. 1. DRYDEN.