Select epigrams, Volum 1

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Pàgina 71 - Live while you live, the Epicure would say, And seize the pleasures of the present day. Live while you live, the sacred Preacher cries, And give to God each moment as it flies.
Pàgina 30 - EPIGRAM. You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come : Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.
Pàgina 15 - Three poets in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn; The first in loftiness of thought surpassed, The next in majesty; in both the last. The force of Nature could no further go, To make a third she joined the former two.
Pàgina 15 - Flavia the least and slightest toy Can with resistless art employ. This Fan in meaner hands would prove An engine of small force in love ; But she, with such an air and mien, Not to be told or safely seen, Directs its wanton motions so, That it wounds more than Cupid's bow ; Gives coolness to the matchless dame, To every other breast a flame.
Pàgina 19 - Nobles and heralds, by your leave, Here lies what once was Matthew Prior, The son of Adam and of Eve ; Can Bourbon or Nassau claim higher ? " But, in this case, the old prejudice got the better of the old joke.
Pàgina 115 - ILov'd thee beautiful and kind, And plighted an eternal vow ; So alter'd are thy face and mind, 'Twere perjury to love thee now.
Pàgina 88 - In bed we laugh, in bed we cry, And born in bed, in bed we die; The near approach a bed may show Of human bliss to human woe.
Pàgina 22 - Radcliff ; was so ill, That other doctors gave me over : He felt my pulse, prescribed his pill, And I was likely to recover. " But when the wit began to wheeze, And wine had warmed the politician, Cured yesterday of my disease, I died last night of my physician.
Pàgina 126 - And rather than do such a naughty affair, She became a fine laurel to deck the God's hair. The nymph was, no doubt, of a cold constitution; For sure to turn tree was an odd resolution!
Pàgina 10 - Affure yourfelf, was loudly rated : And madam, getting up again, With her own hand the moufe-trap baited. On little things, as fages write, Depends our human joy or forrow : If we don't catch a moufe to-night, Alas ! no eye-brows for to-morrow.

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