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Página 354 - tis a bold pretence To judgment, breeding, wit, and -eloquence : Nay more ; for they must look within, to find Those secret turns of nature in the mind : Without this part, in vain would be the whole, And but a body all, Without a soul.
Página 353 - Extremely fhort, and fpoke in paffion too. Our lovers talking to themfelves, for want Of others, make the pit their confidant; Nor is the matter mended yet, if thus They truft a friend, only to tell it us : Th' occafion mould as naturally fall, As when Bellario confefles all.
Página 290 - Acme, enflam'd with what he said, Rear'd her gently-bending head, And her purple mouth with joy, Stretching to the delicious Boy, Twice (and twice could...
Página 346 - Are necessary, yet but vulgar arts ; And all in vain these superficial parts Contribute to the structure of the whole ; Without a genius, too, for that's the soul: A spirit which inspires the work throughout, As that of nature moves the world about ; A flame that glows amidst conceptions fit, Even something of divine, and more than wit ; Itself unseen, yet all things by it shown, Describing all men, but describ'd by none.
Página 350 - Cooper's Hill. A higher flight, and of a happier force, Are Odes: the Mufes' moft unruly horfe, That bounds fo fierce, the rider has no reft, Here foams at mouth, and moves like one poflefs'd.
Página 359 - A work of fuch ineftimable worth, There are but two the world has yet brought forth ! Homer and Virgil ! with what facred awe, Do thofe...
Página 360 - Who through this Labyrinth has lent the Clue ! But what, alas ! avails it poor Mankind, To fee this promis'd Land, yet ftay behind ? The Way is...
Página 345 - F all thofe arts in which the wife excel, Nature's chief mafter-piece is writing well : No writing lifts exalted man fo high, As facred and foul-moving poefy : No kind o£ work requires fo nice a touch, And, if well finifh'd, nothing mines fo much.
Página 347 - The beft of mafters, and examples too ! Echoes at beft, all we can fay is vain ; Dull the defign, and fruitlefs were the pain. 'Tis true, the ancients we may rob with eafe ; But who with that mean fhift himfelf can pleafe, \Vithout an adtor's pride ? A player's art Is above his, who writes a borrow'd part.