The Works of Dr. Jonathan Swift, Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin, Volum 7

Portada
W. Bowyer, C. Bathurst, W. Owen, W. Strahan, J. Rivington, J. Hinton, L. Davis, and C. Reymers, R. Baldwin, J. Dodsley, S. Crowder and Company and B. Collins., 1768

Des de l'interior del llibre

Què en diuen els usuaris - Escriviu una ressenya

No hem trobat cap ressenya als llocs habituals.

Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot

Frases i termes més freqüents

Passatges populars

Pàgina 71 - But, that which wonderful appears, I speak to eyes, and not to ears. He oft...
Pàgina 275 - Let them rave at making laws ; While they never hold their tongue, Let them dabble in their dung : Let them form a grand committee, How to plague and starve the city ; Let them...
Pàgina 417 - THE VOWELS We are little airy creatures, All of different voice and features; One of us in glass is set, One of us you'll find in jet. T'other you may see in tin, And the fourth a box within. If the fifth you should pursue, It can never fly from you.
Pàgina 261 - So geographers, in Afric maps, With savage pictures fill their gaps, And o'er unhabitable downs Place elephants for want of towns.
Pàgina 92 - That lies in old wood like a hare in her form ; With teeth or with claws it will bite or will scratch, And chambermaids christen this worm a deathwatch ; Because like a watch it always cries click ; Then woe be to those in the house who are sick : For, as sure as a gun, they will give up the ghost, If the maggot cries click when it scratches the post.
Pàgina 260 - Depend upon't their judgment's right. But if you blab, you are undone : Consider what a risk you run : You lose your credit all at once ; The town will mark you for a dunce ; The vilest doggrel, Grub-street sends, Will pass for yours with foes and friends ; And you must bear the whole disgrace, Till some fresh blockhead takes your place.
Pàgina 178 - Hence the mean and sordid soul, Like his body, rank and foul; Hence that wild suspicious peep, Like a rogue that steals a sheep...
Pàgina 146 - But, madam, I beg you contrive and invent, And worry him out, till he gives his consent. Dear madam, whene'er of a barrack I think, An I were to be hang'd, I can't sleep a wink : For if a new crotchet comes into my brain, I can't get it out, though I'd never so fain.
Pàgina 359 - The Ass approaching next, confess'd, That in his heart he loved a jest: A wag he was, he needs must own, And could not let a dunce alone: Sometimes his friend he would not...
Pàgina 256 - Hath blasted with poetic fire. What hope of custom in the fair, While not a soul demands your ware? Where you have nothing to produce For private life, or public use? Court, city, country want you not; You cannot bribe, betray, or plot.

Informació bibliogràfica