All the Talents: A Satirical Poem in Four Dialogues ; to which is Added a Pastoral Epilogue

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J.J. Stockdale, 1807 - 152
 

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Strona 48 - But now, rous'd slowly from her opiate bed, Lethargic Europe lifts the heavy head ; Feels round her heart the creeping torpor close, And starts with horror from her dire repose.
Strona 100 - Sidmouth, if you ask it, Will put to sea (Lord love it) in a basket ! Then if, as now, true glory still inspire, From toils of state firm Canning may retire; Blest in the conscience of a blotless day, And calm while life steals airily away. Then if, as now, true glory swell each breast, Shall Castlereagh, — shall Percival be blest. Now let thy prose, 0 C'obbett, lap me fast In its long periods, and its broad bombast; Thou blust'rer...
Strona 101 - ... meat, And men suck mercy from the tiger's teat ! Yet oh ! to lash a lowly bard forbear: Who stings a princess may a poet spare. Go ! in thy paper, to the town proclaim, Thy soul unsex'd, thy forehead void of shame; Go ! with brass tongue, around the city call, Scurrility, huzza ! and heigh for Paull ! Spare me not Chronicles and Sunday News!
Strona 49 - From these sources I draw my politics, and these tell me, we shall triumph. The red right hand of Providence is every where visible. Even at this moment it is performing the promised work of papal extirpation. Persevere then, Britons, in the mighty task before you. To recede from it were ruin, Be firm, and you triumph—fear, and you fall.

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