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Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine, And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.
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Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
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The Niobe of nations! there she stands.
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The mellow autumn came, and with it came The promised party, to enjoy its sweets. The corn is cut, the manor full of game; The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats In russet jacket;--lynx-like is his aim; Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats. An, nutbrown partridges! An, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.
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A light broke in upon my brain, -It was the carol of a bird;It ceased, and then it came again,The sweetest song ear ever heard.
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I doubt sometimes whether a quiet and unagitated life would have suited me - yet I sometimes long for it.
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Yes! Ready money is Aladdin's lamp.
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I have simplified my politics into an utter detestation of all existing governments; and, as it is the shortest and most agreeable and summary feeling imaginable, the first moment of an universal republic would convert me into an advocate for single and uncontradicted despotism. The fact is, riches are power, and poverty is slavery all over the earth, and one sort of establishment is no better, nor worse, for a people than another.
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I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains.
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A sort of hostile transaction, very necessary to keep the world going, but by no means a sinecure to the parties concerned.
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Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.
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Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure.
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Whate'erI may have been, or am, doth rest betweenHeaven and myself; I shall not choose a mortalTo be my mediator.
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The best of prophets of the future is the past.
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Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue By female lips and eyes--that is, I mean, When both the teacher and the taught are young, As was the case, at least, where I have been; They smile so when one's right; and when one's wrong They smile still more.
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The image of Eternity--the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
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He left a corsair's name to other times,Linked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes.
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But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.
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I was accused of every monstrous vice by public rumour and private rancour; my name, which had been a knightly or noble one, was tainted. I felt that, if what was whispered, and muttered, and murmured, was true, I was unfit for England; if false, England was unfit for me.
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Besides, they always smell of bread and butter.
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BecauseHe is all-powerful, must all-good, too, follow?I judge but by the fruits-and they are bitter-Which I must feed on for a fault not mine.
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Lord of himself,-that heritage of woe!
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But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton; And, when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on.
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Shrine of the mighty! can it beThat this is all remains of thee?