19 quotes
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honour but an empty bubble.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
He raised a mortal to the skies;
She drew an angel down.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
Timotheus, to his breathing flute,
And sounding lyre,
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
With ravish'd ears
The monarch hears,
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,
And seems to shake the spheres.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
If all the world be worth thy winning.
Think, oh think it worth enjoying:
Lovely Thaïs sits beside thee,
Take the good the gods provide thee.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
For pity melts the mind to love.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure,
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
With ravished ears
The monarch hears;
Assumes the god,
Affects the nod,
And seems to shake the spheres.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain;
Fought all his battles o'er again;
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
Drinking is the soldier’s pleasure;
Rich the treasure;
Sweet the pleasure;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth exposed he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
Happy, happy, happy pair!
None but the brave,
None but the brave,
None but the brave deserves the fair.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
Or both divide the crown;
He rais’d a mortal to the skies;
She drew an angel down.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
Bacchus, ever fair and ever young.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
Sound the trumpets; beat the drums...
Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes.
Alexander's Feast (1697)
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high estate,
And welt'ring in his blood;
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed,
On the bare earth exposed he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
Alexander's Feast (1697)