THE MOST EXTENSIVE
ON THE INTERNET
No penance can absolve out guilty fame;
Nor tears, that wash out sin, can wash out shame.
Nobles and heralds, by your leave,
Here lies what once was Matthew Prior,
The son of Adam and of Eve:
Can Bourbon or Nassau claim higher?
Parent of wicked, bane of honest deeds,
Pernicious flattery! thy malignant seeds,
In an ill hour, and by a fatal hand,
Sadly diffus'd o'er virtue's gleby land,
With rising pride amidst the corn appear,
And choke the hopes and harvest of the year.
See daily show'rs rejoice the thirsty earth
And bless the flow'ry buds' succeeding birth.
Some folks are drunk, yet do hot know it.
Such as she is, who died to-day,
Such thou alas! mayst be to-morrow.
Tell me why the ant midst summer's plenty thinks of winter's want.
That beauteous Emma vagrant courses took.
That fabric rises high as heaven whose basis on devotion stands.
The cradle and the tomb, alas! so nigh.
The ends must justify the means.
The victor's pastime, and the sport of war.
The world agrees
That he writes well who writes with ease.
These pointed spires, that wound the ambient sky.
They always talk who never think, and who have the least to say.
Thou sovereign power, whose secret will controls the inward bent and motion of our souls.
Tired of the last, and eager of the new.
'Tis remarkable that they talk most who have the least to say.
To John I owed great obligation:
But John unhandsomely thought fit
To publish it to all the nation;
Sure John and I are more than quit.
View not this spire by measure given,
To buildings raised by common hands;
That fabric rises high as heaven,
Whose basis on devotion stands.
What is this little, agile, precious fire, this fluttering motion which we call the mind?
Yet tell me, frighted senses! what is death?
Blood only stopp'd, and interrupted breath;
The utmost limit of a narrow span,
And end of motion, which with life began,
And smoke that rises from the kindling fires
Is seen this moment and the next expires;
As empty clouds by rising winds are toss'd
Their fleeting forms scarce sooner found than lost.
Odds life! must one swear to the truth of a song?
- A Better Answer [Songs]
For some in ancient books delight,
Others prefer what moderns write;
Now I should be extremely loth
Not to be thought expert in both.
- Alma [Criticism]
For when one's proofs are aptly chosen,
Four are as valid as four down.
- Alma (canto I, end) [Proof]
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