The works of Jonathan Swift, Volum 2

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G. Faulkner, 1744
 

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Side 372 - So geographers, in Afric maps, With savage pictures fill their gaps, And o'er unhabitable downs Place elephants for want of towns.
Side 69 - Love why do we one passion call, When 'tis a compound of them all ? Where hot and cold, where sharp and sweet, In all their equipages meet; Where pleasures mix'd with pains appear, Sorrow with joy, and hope with fear; Wherein his dignity and age Forbid Cadenus to engage.
Side 224 - tis a quaint device : Your still-born poems shall revive, And scorn to wrap up spice. Get all your verses printed fair, Then let them well be dried j And Curll must have a special care To leave the margin wide. Lend these to paper-sparing ' Pope ; And when he sits to write. No letter with an envelope Could give him more delight.
Side 20 - Had never left each other's side ; The chimney to a steeple grown, The jack would not be left alone ; But, up against the steeple rear'd, Became a clock...
Side 365 - Thus when Philomela drooping Softly seeks her silent mate, See the bird of Juno stooping ; Melody resigns to fate.
Side 32 - Threat'ning with deluge this devoted town. To shops in crowds the daggled females fly, Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy.
Side 61 - A father, and the nymph his child. That innocent delight he took To see the virgin mind her book, Was but the master's secret joy In school to hear the finest boy.
Side 104 - To raise the lumber from the earth. But view him in another scene, When all his drink is Hippocrene, His money...
Side 33 - Street they sail'd from, by their Sight and Smell. ' They, as each Torrent drives, with rapid Force From Smithfield, or St. Pulchre's shape their Course, And in huge Confluent join at Snow-Hill Ridge, Fall from the Conduit prone to Holborn- Bridge. Sweepings from Butchers...
Side 227 - THIS day, whate'er the Fates decree, Shall still be kept with joy by me : This day, then, let us not be told That you are sick and I grown old, Nor think on our approaching ills, And talk of spectacles and pills : To-morrow will be time enough To hear such mortifying stuff.

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