A picture from life: or, The history of Emma Tankerville and sir Henry Moreton

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Side 214 - Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body.
Side 118 - Goddess, wear, Thy milder influence impart, Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound my heart. The generous spark extinct revive, Teach me to love and to forgive, Exact my own defects to scan, What others are to feel, and know myself a man.
Side 39 - A blank, my lord : She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i...
Side 210 - Here love his golden shafts employs, here lights His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings, Reigns here and revels ; not in the bought smile Of harlots, loveless, joyless, unendeared, Casual fruition ; nor in court amours, Mixed dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball, Or serenade, which the starved lover sings To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain...
Side 118 - And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, And leave us leisure to be good. Light they disperse, and with them go The summer Friend, the flattering Foe; By vain Prosperity received, To her they vow their truth, and are again believed.
Side 41 - Favours to none, to all she smiles extends; Oft she rejects, but never once offends. Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike, And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void...
Side 16 - Heroes are much the fame, the point's agreed, From Macedonia's madman to the Swede...
Side 16 - Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave, Is but the more a fool, the more a knave. Who noble ends by noble means obtains, Or failing, smiles in exile or in chains, Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed Like Socrates, that man is great indeed. What's fame? a fancied life in others' breath, A thing beyond us, ev'n before our death.
Side 1 - Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.
Side 48 - . ' Soft down those cheeks, where native crimson vies With ivory whiteness, see the crystals throng ; As some clear river winds its stream along, Bathing the flowers of pale and purple dyes...

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