A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands: With NotesJ. Dodsley, 1782 |
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands, Volum 2 Robert Dodsley Visualització completa - 1765 |
Frases i termes més freqüents
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Passatges populars
Pàgina 240 - I've got it yet, And can produce it." " Pray, sir, do ; I'll lay my life the thing is blue." " And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen The reptile, you'll pronounce him green.
Pàgina 239 - And what a length of tail behind! How slow its pace, and then its hue,— Who ever saw so fine a blue ?
Pàgina 240 - cease your pother, The creature's neither one nor t'other. I caught the animal last night, And viewed it o'er by candle-light; I marked it well, 'twas black as jet — You stare — but, sirs, I've got it yet, And can produce it.
Pàgina 240 - I'll lay my life the thing is blue.' — . ' And I'll be sworn that when you've seen The reptile, you'll pronounce him green.' ' Well, then, at once to ease the doubt,' Replies the man, ' I'll turn him out : And when before your eyes I've set him, If you don't find him black, I'll eat him.
Pàgina 37 - Then skipp'd aloof with quaint amaze, And then drew near again to gaze.
Pàgina 39 - The river gliding down the dale ! The hill with beeches crown'd ! • But now, when urg'd by tender woes I fpeed to meet my dear, That hill and ftream my zeal oppofe, And check my fond career...
Pàgina 241 - I'll eat him." He said : then full before their sight Produced the beast, and lo! — 'twas white. Both stared, the man looked wondrous wise — "My children," the chameleon cries, (Then first the creature found a tongue), "You all are right, and all are wrong: When next you talk of what you view, Think others see as well as you: Nor wonder, if you find that none Prefers your eyesight to his own.
Pàgina 17 - " 'Tis Strephon, on the mountain's brow, Has won my right good will ; To him I gave my plighted vow, With him I'll climb the hill.
Pàgina 8 - Th'. habitual fcene of hill and dale, The rural herds, the vernal gale, The tangled vetch's purple bloom, The fragrance of the bean's perfume, Be theirs alone who cultivate the foil, And drink the cup of thirft, and eat the bread of toil But foon the pageant fades away ! 'Tis nature only bears perpetual fway.
Pàgina 2 - By her aufpicious aid refin'd ; Lo ! not an hedge-row hawthorn blows, Or humble hare-bell paints the plain, Or valley winds, or fountain flows...