The miscellaneous works of Oliver Goldsmith, with beiogr. intr. by prof. [D.] Masson. Globe ed

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Pàgina 98 - With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of ? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
Pàgina xxxiii - Alas ! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling and decay; And those who prize the paltry things, More trifling still than they. " And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep; A shade that follows wealth or fame, But leaves the wretch to weep?
Pàgina 217 - Farewell, and oh ! where'er thy voice be tried, On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, Whether where equinoctial fervours glow, Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, Redress the rigours of the...
Pàgina 206 - Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictured here, Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear ; Too blest, indeed, were such without alloy, But foster'd e'en by freedom, ills annoy ; That independence Britons prize too high, Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie ; The self-dependent lordlings stand alone, All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown...
Pàgina 78 - ... their misery. But who are those who make the streets their couch, and find a short repose from wretchedness at the doors of the opulent? These are strangers, wanderers, and orphans, whose circumstances are too humble to expect redress, and whose distresses are too great even for pity.
Pàgina xxxix - The wond'ring neighbours ran, And swore the dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a man. The wound it seem'd both sore and sad To every Christian eye : And while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die. But soon a wonder came to light, That show'd the rogues they lied : The man recover'd of the bite — The dog it was that died.
Pàgina 261 - And am I to blame? The poor boy was always too sickly to do any good. A school would be his death. When he comes to be a little stronger, who knows what a year or two's Latin may do for him?
Pàgina xxxiii - Then turn to-night, and freely share Whate'er my cell bestows ; My rushy couch and frugal fare, My blessing and repose. "No flocks that range the valley free, To slaughter I condemn: Taught by that Power that pities me, I learn to pity them : "But from the mountain's grassy side A guiltless feast I bring; A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring.
Pàgina 201 - Pleas'd with each good that Heaven to man supplies Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, To see the hoard of human bliss so small...
Pàgina 200 - Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend. And round his dwelling guardian saints attend : Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire ; Blest that abode, where want and pain repair, And every stranger finds a ready chair ; Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd, Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale ; Or press the bashful stranger to his food, And learn...

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