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appear arms bear beauty beneath blood bound breaſt breath bright charms cheek coach dame death eyes face fair fall fame fate fear field fire firſt flame flies flow give gold grace grow hand head hear heart kind known labours land laſt leave lies light live look Lord lovers maid mind morn mourn Muſe muſt nature ne'er never night nymph o'er once pain paint plain pleaſure praiſe pride raiſe riſe rolling roſe round ſee ſeen ſhall ſhe ſhine ſhould ſkies ſome ſoul ſpread ſtand ſteps ſtill ſtrains ſtreams ſtreets ſuch ſun ſwain ſweet ſwelling tears thee theſe thoſe thou thought tongue town trembling true turn vain various verſe voice warm Whoſe wide wind woods youth
Page 254 - Susan, Susan, lovely dear, My vows shall ever true remain ; Let me kiss off that falling tear ; We only part to meet again. Change as ye list, ye winds ; my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee.
Page 75 - Two Hazel-Nuts I threw into the Flame, And to each Nut I gave a Sweet-heart's Name. This with the loudest Bounce me sore amaz'd, That in a Flame of brightest Colour blaz'd. As blaz'd the Nut so may thy Passion grow, For 'twas thy Nut that did so brightly glow.
Page 253 - So the sweet lark, high poised in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast, If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, And drops at once into her nest. The...
Page 142 - Heaven thy eyes and hands, When the long scroll the surgeon's fees demands ! Or else (ye gods, avert that worst disgrace !) Thy ruin'd nose falls level with thy face ! Then shall thy wife thy loathsome kiss disdain, And wholesome neighbours from thy mug refrain. Yet there are watchmen, who with friendly light...
Page 74 - With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.
Page 127 - Eyes, and hasts to beggar more. Where the brass Knocker, wrapt in Flannel Band, Forbids the Thunder of the Footman's Hand; Th...
Page 264 - Like the eyes of my sweet Molly Mog. ' For guineas in other men's breeches Your gamesters' will palm and will cog ; But I envy them none of their riches, So I may win sweet Molly Mog.
Page 188 - Ev'n in mid ocean often didst thou quail, And oft lift up thy holy eye and hand, Praying the Virgin dear, and saintly choir, Back to the port to bring thy bark entire.
Page 194 - All this, my friends, I owe to Homer's strain, On whose strong pinions I exalt my lay. What from contending cities did he gain; And what rewards his grateful country pay? None, none were paid — why then all this for me? These honours, Homer, had been just to thee.