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Page 146 - Tis but the funeral of the former year. Let joy or ease, let affluence or content, And the gay conscience of a life well spent, Calm every thought, inspirit every grace, Glow in thy heart, and smile upon thy face. Let day improve on day, and year on year, Without a pain, a trouble, or a fear...
Page 70 - Then the Bell rung, and I went down to put my Lady to Bed, And, God knows, I thought my Money was as safe as my Maidenhead. So when I came up again, I found my Pocket feel very light, But when I search'd, and miss'd my Purse, Lord! I thought I should have sunk outright: Lord! Madam, says Mary, how d'ye do? Indeed...
Page 146 - See how the world its veterans rewards ! A youth of frolics, an old age of cards; Fair to no purpose, artful to no end, Young without lovers, old without a friend; A fop their passion, but their prize a sot, Alive, ridiculous; and dead, forgot!
Page 37 - Having through all the village past, To a small cottage came at last, Where dwelt a good old honest ye'man, Call'd in the neighbourhood Philemon ; Who kindly did these saints invite In his poor hut to pass the night ; And then the hospitable...
Page 263 - HERE continueth to rot The Body of FRANCIS CHARTRES, Who, with an INFLEXIBLE CONSTANCY, and INIMITABLE UNIFORMITY of Life PERSISTED, In spite of AGE and INFIRMITIES, In the Practice of EVERY HUMAN VICE, Excepting PRODIGALITY and HYPOCRISY: His insatiable AVARICE exempted him from the first, His matchless IMPUDENCE from the second.
Page 301 - tis a shocking sight, And he's engaged to-morrow night; My Lady Club will take it ill, If he should fail her at quadrille. He loved the Dean— (I lead a heart,) But dearest friends, they say, must part. His time was come: he ran his race; We hope he's in a better place.
Page 41 - what's this you tell us ? I hope you don't believe me jealous ? But yet, methinks, I feel it true ; And really yours is budding too : — Nay — now I cannot stir my foot ; It feels as if 'twere taking root.
Page 56 - And that they ne'er consider'd yet. ' Good Mr. Dean, go change your gown, Let my lord know you're come to town.
Page 302 - To fancy they could live a year ! I find you're but a stranger here. The Dean was famous in his time, And had a kind of knack at rhyme : His way of writing now is past ; The town has got a better taste. I keep no antiquated stuff, But spick and span I have enough.