Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 58

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William Blackwood, 1845 - England

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Page 312 - I once before took leave to remind your Lordships — which was unnecessary, but there are many whom it may be needful to remind — that an advocate, by the sacred duty which he owes his client, knows, in the discharge of that office, but one person in the world, that client and none other.
Page 258 - For thee we dim the eyes, and stuff the head With all such reading as was never read : For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it, And write. about it, goddess, and about it : So spins the silk-worm small its slender store, And labours till it clouds itself all o'er.
Page 254 - She comes ! she comes ! the sable throne behold Of Night primeval and of Chaos old ! Before her, fancy's gilded clouds decay, And all its varying rainbows die away. Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. As one by one, at dread Medea's strain, The sick'ning stars fade off th' ethereal plain ; As Argus
Page 238 - Nor let false friends seduce thy mind to fame By arrogating Jonson's hostile name; Let father Flecknoe fire thy mind with praise And uncle Ogleby thy envy raise. Thou art my blood, where Jonson has no part; What share have we in nature or in art? Where did his wit on learning fix a brand And rail at arts he did not understand? Where made he love in Prince Nicander's vein Or swept the dust in Psyche's humble strain? Where sold he bargains, "whipstitch, kiss my arse", Promised a play and dwindled to...
Page 238 - In thy felonious heart though venom lies, It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies. Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame In keen iambics, but mild anagram. Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command Some peaceful province in acrostic land. There thou may'st wings display and altars raise, And torture one poor word ten thousand ways. Or, if thou wouldst thy different talents suit, Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute.
Page 371 - Let him be Gallows-Free by my consent, And nothing suffer since he nothing meant; Hanging supposes human Soul and Reason, This Animal's below committing Treason: Shall he be hang'd who never could Rebel?
Page 371 - Round as a globe, and liquor'd every chink, Goodly and great he sails behind his link; With all this bulk there's nothing lost in Og, For every inch that is not fool is rogue: A monstrous mass of foul corrupted matter, As all the devils had spew'd to make the batter.
Page 238 - Sinking he left his drugget robe behind, Borne upwards by a subterranean wind. The mantle fell to the young prophet's part, With double portion of his father's art.
Page 186 - So, she leaning on her husband's arm, they turned homeward by a rosy path which the gracious sun struck out for them in its setting.
Page 237 - My son, advance Still in new impudence, new ignorance. Success let others teach, learn thou from me Pangs without birth, and fruitless industry. Let virtuosos in five years be writ; Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit.

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