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The man forget not, though in rags he lies, and know the mortal through a crown's disguise.
Mark Akenside -
This was Shakespeare's form; who walked in every path of human life, felt every passion; and to all mankind doth now, will ever, that experience yield which his own genius only could acquire.
Mark Akenside
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Pall on her temper, like a twice-told tale.
Mark Akenside -
Others of graver mien; behold, adorn'dWith holy ensigns, how sublime they move,And bending oft their sanctimonious eyesTake homage of the simple-minded throng;Ambassadors of heaven!
Mark Akenside -
Man loves knowledge, and the beams of truthMore welcome touch his understanding's eyeThan all the blandishments of sound his ear,Than all of taste his tongue.
Mark Akenside -
Youth calls for Pleasure, Pleasure calls for Love.
Mark Akenside -
Such and so various are the tastes of men.
Mark Akenside -
Seeks painted trifles and fantastic toys, and eagerly pursues imaginary joys.
Mark Akenside
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Can art, alas! or genius guide the headWhere truth and freedom from the heart are fled?Can lesser wheels repeat their native stroke,When the prime function of the soul is broke?
Mark Akenside -
Than Timoleon's arms require,And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre.
Mark Akenside -
Adieu, for him,The dull engagements of the bustling world!Adieu the sick impertinence of praise!And hope, and action! for with her alone,By streams and shades, to steal these sighing hours,Is all he asks, and all that fate can give!
Mark Akenside -
Rustic herald of the spring.
Mark Akenside -
The Providence of heavenHas some peculiar blessing givenTo each allotted state below.
Mark Akenside -
O'er yonder eastern hill the twilight paleWalks forth from darkness; and the God of day,With bright Astraea seated by his side,Waits yet to leave the ocean.
Mark Akenside