ALEXANDER POPE (1688-1744)

The Rape of the Lock

Canto I: escena del tocador
And now, unveil'd, the Toilet stands display'd,
Each Silver Vase in mystic Order laid.
First, rob'd in White, the Nymph intent adores
With Head uncover'd, the Cosmetic Pow'rs.
A heav'nly Image in the Glass appears,
To that she bends, to that her Eyes she rears;
Th' inferior Priestess, at her Altar's side,
Trembling, begins the sacred Rites of Pride.
Unnumber'd Treasures ope at once, and here
The various Off'rings of the World appear;
From each she nicely culls with curious Toil,
And decks the Goddess with the glitt'ring Spoil.
This casket India's glowing Gems unlocks,
And all Arabia breathes from yonder Box.
The Tortoise here and Elephant unite,
Transform'd to Combs, the speckled and the white.
Here Files of Pins extend their shining Rows,
Puffs, Powders, Patches, Bibles, Billet-doux.
Now awful Beauty puts on all its Arms;
The Fair each moment rises in her Charms,
Repairs her Smiles, awakens ev'ry Grace,
And calls forth all the Wonders of her Face;
Sees by Degrees a purer Blush arise,
And keener Lightnings quicken in her Eyes.
The busy Sylphs surround their darling Care;
These set the Head, and those divide the Hair,
Some fold the Sleeve, whilst others plait the Gown;
And Betty’s prais'd for labours not her own.
JONATHAN SWIFT (1667-1745)
Gulliver’s Travels.
(Book III, chapter V)
[The author permitted to see the grand academy of Lagado. The academy largely
described. The arts wherein the professors employ themselves.]

This academy is not an entire single building, but a continuation of several houses on
both sides of a street, which growing waste, was purchased and applied to that use.

I was received very kindly by the warden, and went for many days to the academy.
Every room has in it one or more projectors; and I believe I could not be in fewer than
five hundred rooms.
The first man I saw was of a meagre aspect, with sooty hands and face, his hair and
beard long, ragged, and singed in several places. His clothes, shirt, and skin, were all of
the same colour. He has been eight years upon a project for extracting sunbeams out of
cucumbers, which were to be put in phials hermetically sealed, and let out to warm the
air in raw inclement summers.
…
There was a most ingenious architect, who had contrived a new method for building
houses, by beginning at the roof, and working downward to the foundation; which he
justified to me, by the like practice of those two prudent insects, the bee and the spider.

There was a man born blind, who had several apprentices in his own condition: their
employment was to mix colours for painters, which their master taught them to
distinguish by feeling and smelling. It was indeed my misfortune to find them at that
time not very perfect in their lessons, and the professor himself happened to be
generally mistaken. This artist is much encouraged and esteemed by the whole
fraternity.
DANIEL DEFOE (1660-1731)
Moll Flanders
MY TRUE NAME is so well known in the records or registers at Newgate, and in the
Old Bailey, and there are some things of such consequence still depending there,
relating to my particular conduct, that it is not be expected I should set my name or the
account of my family to this work; perhaps, after my death, it may be better known; at
present it would not be proper, no not though a general pardon should be issued, even
without exceptions and reserve of persons or crimes.

SAMUEL RICHARDSON (1689-1761)

Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
LETTER I

DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER, I have great trouble, and some comfort, to acquaint
you with. The trouble is, that my good lady died of the illness I mentioned to you, and
left us all much grieved for the loss of her; for she was a dear good lady, and kind to all
us her servants. Much I feared, that as I was taken by her ladyship to wait upon her
person, I should be quite destitute again, and forced to return to you and my poor
mother, who have enough to do to maintain yourselves; and, as my lady's goodness had
put me to write and cast accounts, and made me a little expert at my needle, and
otherwise qualified above my degree, it was not every family that could have found a
place that your poor Pamela was fit for: but God, whose graciousness to us we have so
often experienced at a pinch, put it into my good lady's heart, on her death-bed, just an
hour before she expired, to recommend to my young master all her servants, one by one;
and when it came to my turn to be recommended, (for I was sobbing and crying at her
pillow) she could only say, My dear son!--and so broke off a little; and then
recovering--Remember my poor Pamela--And these were some of her last words! O
how my eyes run--Don't wonder to see the paper so blotted.
HENRY FIELDING (1707-1754)
Joseph Andrews
Chapter 5
THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS BOOBY, WITH THE AFFECTIONATE AND
MOURNFUL BEHAVIOUR OF HIS WIDOW, AND THE GREAT PURITY OF
JOSEPH ANDREWS
At this time an accident happened which put a stop to those agreeable walks, which
probably would have soon puffed up the cheeks of Fame, and caused her to blow her
brazen trumpet through the town; and this was no other than the death of Sir Thomas
Booby, who, departing this life, left his disconsolate lady confined to her house, as
closely as if she herself had been attacked by some violent disease. During the first six
days the poor lady admitted none but Mrs. Slipslop, and three female friends, who made
a party at cards: but on the seventh she ordered Joey, whom, for a good reason, we shall
hereafter call Joseph, to bring up her tea-kettle. The lady being in bed, called Joseph to
her, bade him sit down, and, having accidentally laid her hand on his, she asked him if
he had ever been in love.
LAURENCE STERNE (1713-1768)
The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman
Chapter 37
Which shews, let your reverences and worships say what you will of it (for as for
thinking—all who do think—think pretty much alike both upon it and other matters)—
Love is certainly, at least alphabetically speaking, one of the most
A gitating
B ewitching
C onfounded
D evilish affairs of life—the most
E xtravagant
F utilitous
G alligaskinish
H andy-dandyish
I racundulous (there is no K to it) and
L yrical of all human passions: at the same time, the most
M isgiving
N innyhammering
O bstipating
P ragmatical
S tridulous
R idiculous
—though by the bye the R should have gone first—But in short ’tis of such a nature, as
my father once told my uncle Toby upon the close of a long dissertation upon the
subject—’You can scarce,’ said he, ’combine two ideas together upon it, brother Toby,
without an hypallage’— What’s that? cried my uncle Toby.
The cart before the horse, replied my father—
—And what is he to do there? cried my uncle Toby.
Nothing, quoth my father, but to get in—or let it alone.
Now widow Wadman, as I told you before, would do neither the one or the other.
She stood however ready harnessed and caparisoned at all points, to watch accidents.
WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1827)

The Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love,

And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And `Thou shalt not 'writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore;
And I saw it was fillèd with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.

London

I wander thro' each charter'd street,

Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every black'ning church appals;
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace walls.
But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH (1770-1850)

I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.