Hvad folk siger - Skriv en anmeldelse
Vi har ikke fundet nogen anmeldelser de normale steder.
Andre udgaver - Se alle
abuse Æneid Alluding ancient appears Bowles called cause character Cibber common Court critics Curl dark Dennis divine Dryden dull Dulness Dunciad edition Epigram equal Essay excellent eyes former friends genius give given Goddess hand happy hath head Hero Homer honour IMITATIONS Journal kind King late learned less Letter light lines lived Lord lost manner master means mentioned mind moral nature never notes o'er observed occasion once opinion particular passage person piece Plays poem poet poetry Pope Pope's praise printed published reader reason REMARKS rest Richard Blackmore satire says SCRIBLERUS sense shew sons sort soul speak sure taste thing thou thought tion translation true truth verses Virg Virgil virtue Wakefield Warton whole writ writer written
Side 335 - Religion blushing veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires. Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word; Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall, And universal Darkness buries all.
Side 290 - The critic Eye, that microscope of Wit, Sees hairs and pores, examines bit by bit...
Side 295 - Show all his paces, not a step advance. With the same cement, ever sure to bind, We bring to one dead level every mind. Then take him to develop, if you can, And hew the block off, and get out the man. 270 But wherefore waste I words? I see advance Whore, pupil, and laced governor from France. Walker! our hat' nor more he deigned to say, But, stern as Ajax
Side 241 - I turn my ravish'd eyes, gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise, poetic fields encompass me around, and still I seem to tread on classic ground; for here the Muse so oft her harp has strung, that not a mountain rears its head unsung, renown'd in verse each shady thicket grows, and every stream in heavenly numbers flows.
Side 287 - Thy mighty scholiast, whose unwearied pains Made Horace dull, and humbled Milton's strains. Turn what they will to verse, their toil is vain, Critics like me shall make it prose again.
Side 299 - To lands of singing, or of dancing slaves, Love-whispering woods, and lute-resounding waves. But chief her shrine where naked Venus keeps, And Cupids ride the lion of the deeps; Where, eased of fleets, the Adriatic main Wafts the smooth eunuch and enamour'd swain.
Side 12 - A perfect judge will read each work of wit With the same spirit that its author writ ; Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind ; Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight, The generous pleasure to be charm'd with wit.
Side 289 - While towering o'er your alphabet, like Saul, Stands our Digamma, and o'ertops them all. Tis true, on words is still our whole debate, Disputes of me or te, of aut or at, To sound or sink in cano, O or A, Or give up Cicero to C or K.
Side 267 - When lo! a Harlot form soft sliding by, With mincing step, small voice, and languid eye: Foreign her air, her robe's discordant pride In patch-work flutt'ring, and her head aside: By singing Peers up-held on either hand, She tripp'd and laugh'd, too pretty much to stand: Cast on the prostrate Nine a scornful look, Then thus in quaint Recitative spoke. "O Cora! Cara! silence all that train: Joy to great Chaos! let Division reign...