Satire and Satirists

Redfield, 1855 - 235 Seiten

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Seite 154 - Let Sporus tremble ! What, that thing of silk ? Sporus, that mere white curd of asses' milk ? Satire or sense, alas, can Sporus feel ? Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel ? Yet, let me flap this bug with gilded wings, This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings ; Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys,
Seite 185 - Since laws were made for every degree, To curb vice in others as well as in me, I wonder we ha'n't better company Upon Tyburn tree. But gold from law can take out the sting; And if rich men like us were to swing, 'Twould thin the land such numbers to string Upon Tyburn tree.
Seite 43 - labors for a joke ! With brisker air the silken courtiers gaze, And turn the varied taunt a thousand ways. Of all the griefs that harass the distrest, Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest: Fate never wounds more deep the generous heart Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart.
Seite 154 - wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys: So well-bred spaniels civilly delight In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.
Seite 41 - What's property, dear Swift 1 you see it alter From you to me, from me to Peter Walter: Or, in a mortgage, prove a lawyer's share; Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir ; Or, in pure equity (the case not clear), The chancery takes your rents for twenty year: At
Seite 44 - peace repine, Shall Wolsey's wealth with Wolsey's end be thine ? Or liv'st thou now with safer pride content, The wisest justice on the banks of Trent 1 ? For why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate, On weak foundations raise th
Seite 170 - Far as the eye could reach no tree was seen,— Earth, clad in russet, scorned the lively green; The plague of locusts they secure defy, For in three hours a grasshopper must die: No living thing, whate'er its food, feasts there, But the chameleon, that can feast on air.
Seite 45 - strand, A petty fortress and a dubious hand. He left the name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a
Seite 40 - Tis yet in vain, I own, to keep a pother About one vice and fall into the other; Between excess and famine lies a mean; Plain, but not sordid ; though not splendid, clean. Avidien and his wife (no matter which, For him you'll call a dog, and her a bitch,) Sell their
Seite 45 - at length her error mend ; Did no subverted empire mark his end ; Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound, Or hostile millions press him to the ground ? His fall was destined to a

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