The popish divan, or, Political sanhedrim [a poem].

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Strana 4 - To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend From wing to wing, and half enclose him round With all his peers: Attention held them mute. Thrice he assay'd, and thrice, in spite of scorn, Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth: at last Words, interwove with sighs, found out their way.
Strana 53 - And forage in the fields of light and love. Sweet hope! Kind cheat! Fair fallacy! By thee We are not Where nor What we be, But What and Where we would be. Thus art thou Our absent Presence and our future Now.
Strana 18 - But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part And each particular hair to stand an end, Like quills upon the fretful porpentine: But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood.
Strana 18 - O thou that, with surpassing glory crown'd, Look'st from thy sole dominion, like the god Of this new world, at whose sight all the stars Hide their diminish'd heads, to thee I call, But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, 0 sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams, That bring to my remembrance from what state 1 fell, how glorious once above thy sphere...
Strana 28 - But who can turn the stream of destiny, Or break the chain of strong necessity, Which fast is tied to Jove's eternal seat? The sons of Day he favoureth, I see, And by my ruins thinks to make them great : To make one great by others
Strana 49 - Olympic prize Must use himself to hunger, heat, and cold, Take leave of wine, and the soft joys of love ; And no musician dares pretend to skill, Without a great expense of time and pains ; But every little busy scribbler now Swells with the praises which he gives himself ; And, taking sanctuary in the crowd, Brags of his impudcuce, and scorns to mend.
Strana 19 - Resolves attend, Which nor Atrides, nor his Greeks can bend; Long Toils, long Perils in their Cause I bore, But now th' unfruitful Glories charm no more. Fight or not fight, a like Reward we claim, The Wretch and Hero find their Prize the same; Alike regretted in the Dust he lies, 420 Who yields ignobly, or who bravely dies.
Strana 25 - Poliohinelle, and makes us aequainted, during his speeeh, with some of the most sueeessful puppet-shows then represented at Dublin. " Tim, you mistake the matter quite ; The Tories ! you are their delight; And should you aet a different part, Be grave and wise, 'twould break their heart. Why, Tim, you have a taste, I know, And often see a puppet show. Observe, the...

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