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A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,
| Through all disguise, form, place or name,
Beneath the flaunting robes of sin, Through poverty and squalid shame, | Thou lookest on the man within.
Measures, not men, have always been my mark. On man, as man, retaining yet,
Howe'er debased, and soiled, and dim,
The immortal gift of God to him.
J. G. WHITTIER. Oh! it is excellent To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant.
Alone! — that worn-out word, For every pelting, petty officer
So idly spoken, and so coldly heard ; Would use his heaven for thunder,
Yet all that poets sing, and grief hath known, Nothing but thunder. Merciful Heaven! Of hopes laid waste, knells in that word — ALONE! Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, | The New Timon, Part II.
E. BULWER-LYTTON. Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak,
All heaven and earth are still, - though not in Than the soft myrtle : but man, proud inan!
sleep, Drest in a little brief authority,
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ; Most ignorant of what he's most assured,
And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep ;His glassy essence, - like an angry ape,
All heaven and earth are still ; from the high Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven,
host As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
Of stars, to the lulled lake and mountain-coast, Would all themselves laugh mortal.
All is concentred in a life intense,
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,
Of that which is of all Creator and defence.
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain ! --
In solitude, where we are least alone. Vain as the leaf upon the stream,
Childe Harold, Cant. iii.
BYRON. And fickle as a changeful dream;
Such was that happy garden-state, Fantastic as a woman's mood,
While man there walked without a mate : And fierce as Frenzy's fevered blood.
After a place so pure and sweet, Thou many-headed monster thing,
What other help could yet be meet! 0, who would wish to be thy king !
But 't was beyond a mortal's share Lady of the Lake, Cant. v.
To wander solitary there :
Two paradises are in one,
To live in paradise alone. And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye
ell The Garden (Translated). Trust ye?
Pacing through the forest, With every minute you do change a mind;
Chewing the end of sweet and bitter fancy. And call him noble that was now your hate,
As You Like It, Activ. Sc. 3.
SHAKESPEARE. | A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
Aud resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain. Don Sebastian.
| The Day is Done.
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, Converse with men makes sharp the glittering wit,
J. S. BLACKIE
But if much converse perhaps Sublime tobacco ! which from east to west, Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield; Cheers the tar's labor or the Turkinan's rest, For solitude sometimes is best society, And short retirement urges sweet return.
Divine in hookahs, glorious in a pipe, Paradise Lost, Book ix.
| When tipped with amber, mellow, rich and ripe :
Like other charmers, wooing the caress
More dazzlingly when daring in full dress; SOCIAL PLEASURES.
Yet thy true lovers more adınire by far Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey,
Thy naked beauties — Give me a cigar !
The Island, Cant. ii.
POPE. Yes, social friend, I love thee well,
In learned doctors' spite;
She that asks Thy clouds all other clouds dispel,
To my Cigar.
C. SPRAGUE. The Timepiece: The Task, Book ii.
And when the smoke ascends on high, The company is “mixed" (the phrase I quote is Then thou behold'st the vanity
Of worldly stuff, As much as saying, they 're below your notice).
Gone with a puff : Beppo.
Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
And seest the ashes cast away,
BYRON. Then to thyself thou mayest say,
That to the dust O give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall.
Return thou must. Town and Country.
Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
ANONYMOUS.- Before 1689. We may live without poetry, music, and art; We may live without conscience and live without
MANNERS AND CUSTOMS. heart; We may live without friends; we may live | Such is the custom of Brank some Hall. without books ;
The Lay of the Last Minstrel, Cant. i.
SCOTT But civilized man cannot live without cooks. · But to my mind, – though I am native here, We may live without books, - what is knowledge And to the manner born, – it is a custom but grieving?
More honored in the breach, than the observance. We may live without hope, - what is hope but Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 4.
deceiving ? We may live without love, -- what is passion Manners with fortunes, humors turn with climes, but pining?
Tenets with books, and principles with times. But where is the man that can live without Moral Essays, Epistle I.
РОРЕ. dining ?
Plain living and high thinking are no more. Lucile, Canf. ii. R. BULWER LYTTON (Owen Meredith).
| The homely beauty of the good old cause There my retreat the best companions grace,
Is gone ; our peace, our fearful innocence, Chiefs out of war, and statesmen out of place ;
And pure religion breathing household laws.
Written in London, September, 1802. WORDSWORTH. There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl, The feast of reason and the flow of soul. Imitations of Horace, Satire i. Book 2.
DIFFERING TASTES. Across the walnuts and the wine...
Different minds The Miller's Daughter.
TENNYSON. Incline to different objects : one pursues
The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild ;
Such and so various are the tastes of men.
J. THOMSON. I Pleasures on the Imapration Book III. M. AKENSIDE
What's one man's poison, signor,
PRUDENT SPEECH. Is another's meat or drink.
Let it be tenable in your silence still. Love's Cure, Ac üi. Sc. 2. BEAUMONT and FLETCHER.
Give it an understanding, but no tongue. Variety's the very spice of life,
Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 2.
SHAKESPEARE That gives it all its flavor. The Timepiece: The Task, Book ii.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice ;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judy. Not chaos-like together crushed and bruised,
ment. But, as the world, harmoniously confused,
Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 3. Where order in variety we see,
And oftentimes excusing of a fault And where, though all things differ, all agree. Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse, Windsor Forest.
As patches, set upon a little breach,
Than did the fault before it was so patched.
King John, Act iv. Sc. 2.
SHAKESPEARE. 0, shame to men ! devil with devil damned Firm concord holds, men only disagree
Moderation. Of creatures rational.
| Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, Paradise Lost, Book ii.
Lie in three words, — health, peace, and compe
But health consists with temperance alone,
And peace, O Virtue ! peace is all thine own. Think naught a trifle, though it small appear ; Essay on Man, Epistle IV.
POPE. Small sands the mountain, moments make the year,
These violent delights have violent ends, And trifles life.
And in their triumph die ; like fire and powder, Love of Fame, Satire vi.
Which as they kiss consume. Pretty! in amber to observe the forms
Therefore love moderately ; long love doth so ; Of hair, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, Romeo and Juliet, Act ii. Sc. 6. Shakespeare, But wonder how the devil they got there !
They surfeited with honey ; and began Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to Satires. POPE
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little What dire offence from amorous causes springs,
More than a little is by much too much. What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
King Henry IV., Part I. dct iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE. The Rape of the Lock, Cant. i.
He that holds fast the golden mean,
And lives contentedly between A little fire is quickly trodden out,
The little and the great, Which, being suffered, rivers cannot quench.
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, King Henry VI., Part III. Act iv. Sc. 8. SHAKESPEARE.
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door.
Translation of Horace, Book ii. Ode x.
DR. E. YOUNG.
If then to all men happiness was meant,
God in externals could not place content.
IDLENESS AND ENNUI. At length from us may find, who overcomes
'Tis the voice of the sluggard ; I heard him By force hath overcome but half his foe.
complain, Paradise Lost, Book i.
“You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again.”
DR. I. WATTS.
A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.
To sigh, yet feel no pain,
NIGHT AND SLEEP. To weep, yet scarce know why;
Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep! To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,
He, like the world, his ready visit pays Then throw it idly by.
Where fortune sipiles ; the wretched he forsakes : The Blue Stocking:
Swift on his downy pinions fies from woe, The keenest pangs the wretched find
And lights on lids unsullied with a tear. Are rapture to the dreary void,
Night Thoughts, Night i.
DR. E. YOUNG. The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.
Thou hast been called, 0 sleep! the friend of The Giaour.
But 't is the happy that have called thee so. Their only labor was to kill the time
Curse of Kehama, Cant. xv.
R. SOUTHEY. (And labor dire it is, and weary woe); They sit, they loll, turn o'er some idle rhyme : She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down, Then, rising sudden, to the glass they go,
And rest your gentle head upon her lap, Or saunter forth, with tottering step and slow: / And she will sing the song that pleaseth you, This soon too rude an exercise they find ; And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep, Straight on the couch their limbs again they Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness ; throw,
Making such difference betwixt wake and sleep Where hours on hours they sighing lie reclined. As is the difference betwixt day and night, And court the vapory god, soft breathing in the The hour before the heavenly-harnessed team wind.
Begins his golden progress in the east.
Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth Hang SORROW!
Finds the down pillow hard. And this the burden of his song forever used | Cymbeline, Act iii. Sc. 6.
to be, I care for nobody, no not I, if nobody cares for Care-charming sleep, thou easer of all woes, me.
Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose Love in a Village, Adt i. Sc. 2.
On this afflicted prince ; fall like a cloud
In gentle showers ; . . . sing his pain Without the door let sorrow lie ;
Like hollow murinuring wind or silver rain. And if for cold it hap to die,
BEAUMONT and FLETCHER, We'll bury't in a Christmas pie, And evermore be merry.
Midnight brought on the dusky hour
Friendliest to sleep and silence. And Jack shall pipe, and Gill shall dance,
Paradise Lost, Book v. And all the town be merry.
And the night shall be filled with music, For Christmas comes but once a year,
And the cares that infest the day And then they shall be merry.
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
The Day is Done.
To all, to each, a fair good-night,
And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light!
Marmion : L'Envoy. To the Reader.