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17. Snatch from the ashes of your sires
The embers of their former fires,
And he, who in the strife expires,
Will add to theirs a name of fear,
That tyranny will quake to hear!


18. The Niobe of Nations! there she stands,
Childless and crownless in her voiceless woe;
An empty urn within her wither'd hands,
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago.

BYRON'S Giaour.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

-While the tree

Of freedom's wither'd trunk puts forth a leaf,
Even for thy tomb a garland let it be.

BYRON'S Childe Harold. 20. Yes, honour decks the turf that wraps their clay. BYRON'S Childe Harold.

21. Who, all unbrib'd, on freedom's ramparts stand, Faithful and true, bright wardens of the land. CHARLES SPRAGUE.

22. England! with all thy faults, I love thee still.


23. When a patriot falls, must he fall in the battle,

Where the cannon's loud roar is his only death-rattle ?
There's a warfare where none but the morally brave
Stand nobly and firmly, their country to save.
"Tis the war of opinion, where few can be found,
On the mountain of principle, guarding the ground,
With vigilant eyes ever watching the foes
Who are prowling around them, and aiming their blows.


24. And they who for their country die,
Shall fill an honour'd grave;
For glory lights the soldier's tomb,
And beauty weeps the brave.


25. They love their land because it is their own,

And scorn to give aught other reason why;
Would shake hands with a king upon his throne,
And think it kindness to his Majesty.


26. Strike-till the last arm'd foe expires;
Strike for your altars and your fires;
Strike for the green graves of your sires,
God, and your native land!


27. Yes, it is dear-fair Southern clime
Of genial suns and hearts sincere ;
And we will cherish it till Time

Shall end, at last, our life's career.





1, Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried,
What hell it is in suing long to bide;

To lose good days, that might be better spent,
To waste long nights in pensive discontent;
To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow;
To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow ;-
To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run,
To spend, to give, to want, to be undone ;-
Unhappy wight, born to disastrous end,
That doth his life in so long tendance spend.
SPENSER'S Mother Hubbard's Tale.




These can lie,

Flatter, and swear, deprave, inform,

Smile and betray; make guilty men; then beg
The forfeit lives, to get the livings; cut
Men's throats with whisperings; sell to gaping suitors
The empty smoke that flies about a palace.

3. I have been told, virtue in courtiers' hearts Suffers an ostracism, and departs.


4. True courtiers should be modest, and not nice; Bold, but not impudent; pleasure love, not vice.

Poor wretches, that depend

On greatness' favour, dream as I have done;
Wake and find nothing.

6. The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Whom I have soon to weed and pluck away.


I hardly yet have learn'd

T' insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend the knee.

8. Those, that go up hill, use to bow
Their bodies forward, and stoop low,
To poise themselves; and sometimes creep
When th' way is difficult and steep:
So those at court, that do address
By low, ignoble offices,

Can stoop at any thing that's base,
To wriggle into trust and grace,
Are like to rise to greatness sooner
Than those that go by worth and honour.



9. See how he sets his countenance for deceit, And promises a lie before he speaks.





BUTLER'S Hudibras.



"Tis the curse of kings,
To be surrounded by a venal herd
Of flatterers, that soothe his darling vices,
And rob their master of his subjects' love.

11. Curse on the coward or perfidious tongue That dares not, even to kings, avow the truth.


BROOK'S Earl of Warwick.

12. To shake with laughter, ere the jest they hear,
To pour, at will, the counterfeited tear;
And, as their patron hints the cold or heat,
To shake in dog-days, in December sweat.

13. A lazy, proud, unprofitable crew,

The vermin gender'd from the rank corruption
Of a luxurious state.

A mere court butterfly,

That flutters in the pageant of a monarch.





BYRON'S Sardanapalus.

15. And none did love him—though to hall and bower
He gather'd followers from far and near;
He knew them flatterers of the festal hour,

The heartless parasites of present cheer.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

1. Bring, therefore, all the forces that you may, And lay incessant battery to her heart; Plaints, prayers, vows, ruth, and sorrow, and dismay,

These engines can the proudest love convert.

SPENSER'S Sonnets.

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2. So well he woo'd her, and so well he wrought her,
With fair entreaty and sweet blandishment,
That at the length unto a bay he brought her,
So that she to his speeches was content
To lend an ear, and softly to relent.


SPENSER'S Fairy Queen.

I do not love

Much ceremony; suits in love should not,
Like suits in law, be rock'd from term to term.

4. There is, sir, a critical minute in

Every man's wooing, when his mistress may
Be won, which if he carelessly neglect
To prosecute, he may wait long enough
Before he gains the like opportunity.

5. She is beautiful, therefore to be woo'd; She is woman, therefore to be won.


8. But tho' I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not;
And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man;
Or, that we women had men's privilege
Of speaking first.



6. Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;
Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces.
That man that has a tongue, I say, is no man,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

7. Say that she rail; why then I'll tell her plain,
She sings as sweetly as the nightingale ;

Say that she frown; I'll say, she looks as clear
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew;
Say she be mute, and will not speak a word;
Then I'll commend her volubility,
And say, she uttereth piercing eloquence.




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