The Poetical Works of John Dryden, Volym 4

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W. Pickering, 1832

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Sida 101 - Mouths without hands; maintained at vast expense, In peace a charge, in war a weak defence ; Stout once a month they march, a blustering band, And ever, but in times of need, at hand ; This was the morn when, issuing on the guard, Drawn up in rank and file they stood prepared Of seeming arms to make a short essay, Then hasten to be drunk, the business of the day.
Sida 42 - Though harsh the precept, yet the people charm'd. For, letting down the golden chain from high, He drew his audience upward to the sky ; And oft with holy hymns he charm'd their ears, A music more melodious than the spheres ; For David left him, when he went to rest, His lyre ; and after him he sung the best.
Sida 119 - Images ; he forms and equips those ungodly Mankillers, whom we Poets, when we flatter them, call Heroes ; a race of Men who can never enjoy quiet in themselves, "till they have taken it from all the World.
Sida 44 - His preaching much, but more his practice wrought; (A living sermon of the truths he taught); For this by rules severe his life he squared, That all might see the doctrine which they heard.
Sida 101 - The country rings around with loud alarms, And raw in fields the rude militia swarms ; Mouths without hands, maintained at vast expense, In peace a charge, in war a weak defence : Stout once a month they march, a blust'ring band ; And ever, but in times of need, at hand...
Sida 68 - But this last act of love excels the rest ; For this so dear a present, bear him back The best return that I can live to make.
Sida 89 - Nor can we write without it, nor would you A tale of only dry instruction view ; Nor love is always of a vicious kind, But oft to virtuous acts inflames the mind ; Awakes the sleepy vigour of the soul, And, brushing o'er, adds motion to the pool.
Sida 274 - By how much more the captain merits praise, Than he who fights, and fighting but obeys; By so much greater is my worth than thine, Who canst but execute what I design. What gain'st thou, brutal man ! if I confess Thy strength superior, when thy wit is less? Mind is the man : I claim my whole desert From the mind's vigour, and the
Sida 31 - He on the midst, the beldam at his side. The horse, what devil drove I cannot tell, But only this, they sped their journey well : And all the way the crone inform'd the knight, How he should answer the demand aright.
Sida 77 - Mercy, O Mercy, Heav'n, she ran, and cry'd; When Heav'n was nam'd they loos'd their Hold again, Then sprung she forth, they follow'd her amain. Not far behind, a Knight of swarthy Face, High on a Coal-black Steed...

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