Fables of Mr. John Gay, with an Italian translation by Gian Francesco Giorgetti

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T. Davies, 1773 - 365 pages

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Page 281 - Tis thus in friendships ; who depend On many, rarely find a friend. A Hare who, in a civil way, Complied with everything, like Gay, Was known by all the bestial train...
Page 135 - Tis self-defence in each profession ; Sure self-defence is no transgression. The little portion in my hands, By good security on lands Is well increas'd. If, unawares, My justice to myself and heirs Hath let my debtor rot in jail, For want of good sufficient bail...
Page 289 - I, says he, of tender age, In this important care engage? Older and abler passed you by; How strong are those, how weak am I! Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence.
Page 227 - The cards, obedient to his words, Are by a fillip turn'd to birds. His little boxes change the grain : Trick after trick deludes the train. He...
Page 285 - She next the stately Bull implored; And thus replied the mighty lord : "Since every beast alive can tell That I sincerely wish you well ; I may, without offence, pretend To take the freedom of a friend. Love calls me hence ; a...
Page 71 - But use them for your private ends. Stint not to truth the flow of wit; Be prompt to lie whene'er 'tis fit. Bend all your force to spatter merit; Scandal is conversation's spirit. Boldly to ev'ry thing pretend, And men your talents shall commend. I knew the Great. Observe me right; So shall you grow like man polite.
Page 205 - Birds ! (the mother cries) This hill delicious fare supplies ; Behold the busy negro race, See millions blacken all the place ! Fear not ; like me with freedom eat ; An Ant is most delightful meat. How...
Page 283 - She starts, she stops, she pants for breath; She hears the near advance of death; She doubles to mislead the hound, And measures back her mazy round; Till, fainting in the public way, Half-dead with fear, she gasping lay.
Page 203 - Dame, (quoth the Raven) spare your oaths, Unclench your fist, and wipe your clothes. But why on me those curses thrown ? Goody, the fault was all your own ; For had you laid this brittle ware On Dun, the old sure-footed mare, Though all the Ravens of the Hundred, With croaking had your tongue out-thunder'd, Sure-footed Dun had kept her legs, And you, good Woman, sav'd your eggs.
Page 323 - Lord, the spirit there Might well a Raphael's hand require, To give them all the native fire. The features, fraught with sense and wit, You'll grant are very hard to hit; But yet with patience you shall view As much as paint and art can do." "Observe the work!" My Lord replied, "Till now I thought my mouth was wide; Besides, my nose is somewhat long: Dear Sir, for me, 'tis far too young.

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