The Puffiad: A Satire

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Samuel Maunder, 1828 - 128 Seiten
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Seite 19 - And if I give thee honour due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew, To live with her and live with thee, In unreproved pleasures free...
Seite 14 - Maevius scribble in Apollo's spite, There are who judge still worse than he can write. Some have at first for wits, then poets past, Turn'd critics next, and prov'd plain fools at last. Some neither can for wits nor critics pass, As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Seite 8 - As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat With stripes, that Mercy with a bleeding heart Weeps, when she sees inflicted on a beast. Then what is man? And what man, seeing this, And having human feelings, does not blush And hang his head, to think himself a man?
Seite 19 - Upon the whole, Mr. Milton seems to be possessed of some fancy and talent for rhyming ; two most dangerous endowments, which often unfit men for acting an useful part in life, without qualifying them for that which is great and brilliant.
Seite 18 - M.'s good intentions there can be no doubt ; but we beg leave to remind him, that in every compact of this nature there are two opinions to be consulted. He presumes perhaps upon the poetical powers he has displayed, and considers them as irresistible; — for every one must observe in how different a strain he avows his attachment now and at the opening of the Poem. Then it was, If I give thee honour due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew.
Seite 19 - ... useful part in life, without qualifying them for that which is great and brilliant. If it be true, as we have heard, that he has declined advantageous prospects in business for the sake of indulging his poetical humour, we hope it is not yet too late to prevail upon him to retract his resolution. With the help of Cocker and common industry he may become a respectable scrivener; but it is not all the Zephyrs, and Auroras, and Corydons, and Thyrsises, aye, nor his junketing Queen Mab, and drudging...
Seite 27 - THE mighty mother, and her son, who brings The Smithfield muses to the ear of kings, I sing. Say you, her instruments, the great! Call'd to this work by Dulness, Jove, and Fate; You by whose care, in vain decried, and curst, Still Dunce the second reigns like Dunce the first; Say, how the goddess bade Britannia sleep.
Seite 1 - Hence of all trades, literature at present demands the least talent or information ; and, of all modes of literature, the manufacturing of poems. The difference indeed between these and the works of genius is not less than between an egg and an egg-shell; yet at a distance they both look alike.
Seite 29 - So plainly honest, and so bluntly pure, . They liv'd in calm simplicity secure ; Content to make their paradise at home, They seldom frisk'd in France, or whined at Rome ; No snug elopement, or polite crim. con., For paper-grubs, or law, to live upon, — No London trip, to run the crazy round Of Vice above, and Folly under ground, — By rich or poor was courted or required, While duty triumph'd and plain sense inspired.

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