64 ATTENDANCE. ATTIRE. Beware, And govern well thy appetite, lest sin Milton. What can then be less in me than desire When some gracious monarch dies, Soft whispers first and mournful murmurs rise Music's force can tame the furious beast; Milton. Dryden. Prior. ATTIRE. LET it likewise your gentle breast inspire Spenser. Shakspere. Thy sumptuous buildings, and thy wife's attire, I pass their form and every charming grace, And in this coarse attire which now I wear Now sappy boughs Attire themselves with blooms. When lavish nature with her best attire Dryden. Donne. Phillips. Waller. But marriage is a matter of more worth, Shakspere. Despairing quacks with curses fled the place, Pope. ATTRACT-ATTRACTION. Be centre to the world; and other stars, So plastic nature working to this end, Milton. Formed and impelled its neighbour to embrace. Pope. Blackmore. AUCTION. AND much more honest, to be hired, and stand Provoking to give more, and knocking thrice, For the old household stuff of picture's price. Dryden. Ask you why Phrine the whole auction buys; F Pope. 66 AUDIT. AUSTERITY. AUDIT. He took my father grossly, full of bread, With all his crimes broad blown, and flush as May; And how his audit stands, who knows save heaven? I can make my audit up, that all Shakspere. From me do back receive the flour of all, And leave me but the bran. Shakspere. Yet went she not, as not with such discourse Of what was high; such pleasure she reserved Milton. AUSTERITY. АH! Luciana, did he tempt thee so? My unsoiled name, the austereness of my life, Shakspere. What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield And noble grace, that dashed brute violence Milton. The austere and ponderous juices they sublime, Blackmore. Let not austerity breed servile fear; No wanton word offend her virgin ear. Roscommon. AUTHORS. AUTHORS. How many great ones may remember'd be, Which in their days most famously did flourish, Of whom no word we hear, nor sign now see, But as things wip'd out with a sponge do perish, Because they living cared not to cherish No gentle wits, through pride or covetise, 67 Which might their names for ever memorise.-Spenser. Thou art my father, thou my author, thou I'll never Shakspere. Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand Let authors write for glory or reward, Shakspere. Truth is well paid, when she is sung and heard. Bishop Corbet. Authors are judg'd by strange capricious rules, None but an author knows an author's cares, Some write a narrative of wars and feats, ** Pope. As they had known him from his mother's womb. Cowper. So vain some authors are to boast Each other but a knight o' the post, That vouch away all right they have to their own ears. Look through the world-in every other trade Churchill. An author! 'tis a venerable name! Young. This globe pourtrayed the race of learned men, Then writ and blot, as would your wrath engage. Thomson. One hates an author that's all author, fellows So very anxious, clever, fine, and jealous, One don't know what to say to them, or think, Unless to puff them with a pair of bellows; Of coxcombry's worst coxcombs, e'en the pink Are preferable to these shreds of paper, These unquenched snuffings of the midnight taper. Byron. |