The Monthly Epitome, Tom 2

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W. Clarke, 1799

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Strona 449 - He used often to say, that if he were to choose a place to die in, it should be an inn ; it looking like a pilgrim's going home, to whom this world was all as an inn, and who was weary of the noise and confusion in it.
Strona 170 - It was on the martyrdom of her grandfather: she received him in the great drawing-room of Buckingham House, seated in a chair of state, in deep mourning, attended by her women in like weeds, in memory of the royal martyr.
Strona 448 - There is no small degree of malicious craft in fixing upon a season to give a mark of enmity and illwill : a word, — a look, which at one time would make no impression at another time wounds the heart ; and like a shaft flying with the wind, pierces deep, which, with its own natural force, would scarce have reached the object aimed at.
Strona 445 - Shall we for ever make new books, as apothecaries make new mixtures, by pouring only out of one vessel into another? Are we for ever to be twisting, and untwisting the same rope? for ever in the same track — for ever at the same pace?
Strona 429 - ... For any living thing, hath faculties Which he has never used; that thought with him Is in its infancy. The man, whose eye Is ever on himself, doth look on one, The least of nature's works, one who might move The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds Unlawful, ever.
Strona 422 - Shakspeare against your criticisms, am I vain enough to think myself an adversary worthy of you. I am much more proud of receiving laws from you, than of contesting them. It was bold in me to dispute with you even before I had the honour of your acquaintance; it would be ungrateful now when you have not only taken notice of me, but forgiven me. The admirable letter you have been so good as to send me, is a proof that you are one of those truly great and rare men who know at once how to conquer and...
Strona 252 - That led the sailor through the stormy way, Was from its rocky roots by billows torn, And the high turret in the whirlwind borne, Fleets bulg'd their sides against the craggy land, And pitchy ruins blacken'd all the strand.
Strona 186 - Of social pleasure, ill-exchang'd for power ; Seen him, uncumber'd with the venal tribe, Smile without art, and win without a bribe. Would he oblige me? let me only find, He does not think me what he thinks mankind.
Strona 292 - The president is very near deaf, and much nearer superannuated. He sits by the table: the mistress of the house, who formerly was his, inquires after every dish on the table, is told who has eaten of which, and then bawls the bill of fare of every individual into the president's ears. In short, every mouthful is proclaimed, and so is every blunder I make against grammar.
Strona 421 - I should think him to blame, if he could have seen the letter you have done me the honour to write to me, and yet not conform to the rules you have there laid down. When he lived, there had not been a Voltaire both to give laws to the stage, and to show on what good sense those laws were founded. Your art, Sir, goes still farther : for you have supported your arguments, without having recourse to the best authority, your own Works.

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