Thou art to me! For countless years thou 'st So shall I clothe me in a forc'd content,
Before an ear did hear thee, thou didst mourn, Prophet of sorrow, o'er a race unborn; Waiting, thou mighty minister of death, Lorely thy work, ere man had drawn his breath! Dana's Factitious Life.
Thou art the same, eternal sea! The earth hath many shapes and forms, Of hill and valley, flower and tree; Fields that the fervid noontide warms, Or winter's rugged grasp deforms, Or bright with autumn's golden store; Thou coverest up thy face with storms, Or smil'st serene - but still thy roar And dashing foam go up to vex the sea-beat shore. George Lunt.
The ocean looketh up to heaven, As 't were a living thing;
The homage of its waves is given In ceaseless worshipping. They kneel upon the sloping sand, As bends the human knee,
A beautiful and tireless band, The priesthood of the sea!
Look how the grey, old ocean, From the depth of his heart rejoices,
And shut myself up in some other course, To fortune's alms.
In such a time as this, it is not meet That every nice offence should bear its comment.
Shaks. Julius Cæsar. For well you know we of th' offending side Must keep aloof from strict arbitrament: And stop all sight-holes, every loop, from whence The eye of reason may pry in upon us.
Shaks. Henry IV. Part I. What is my offence?
Where is the evidence that doth accuse me? What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge?
Shaks. Richard III. He hath wrong'd his queen, but still he is her lord; He hath wrong'd my sister, still he is my brother; He hath wrong'd his people, still he is their sove
Heaving with a gentle motion,
When he hears our restful voices;
List, how he sings in an under tone, Chiming with our melody;
And there, where the smooth, wet pebbles be, The waters gurgle longingly,
As if they fain would seek the shore,
To be at rest from the ceaseless roar,
To be at rest for evermore.
What custom wills in all things, should we do't. The dust on antique time would lie unswept, And mountainous error be too highly heap'd For truth to overpeer. Rather than feel it so, Let the high office and the honour go The Syrens. To one who would do thus.
Shaks. Coriolanus. You, yourself
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm;
To sell and mart your offices for gold
He climbs, he pants, he grasps them; at his heels, That fastens upon wit and sense,
Close at his heels a demagogue ascends, And, with a dexterous jerk soon twists him down, And wins them, but to lose them in his turn.
And count, if possible, the pamper'd numbers Who fatten on the state: they are the men, Who, if they find a man too honourable To be a fellow-gleaner of the spoils, When faction's sickle sweeps the public wealth, Lift up their angry voices to the crowd And breathe around their pestilential breath, Till virtue's self is tainted by the touch.
Dawes's Athenia of Damascus. They who bend to Power, and lap its milk, Are fickler and more dangerous far than they Who honestly defy it!
Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan The outward habit by the inward man.
Opinion, the blind goddess of fools, foe To the virtuous, and only friend to Undeserving persons.
That with a venomous contagion, Invades the sick imagination; And when it seizes any part, It strikes the poison to the heart.
This men of one another catch- By contact, as the humours match; And nothing's so perverse in nature As a profound opinionator.
How can you rest where pow'r is still alarm'd: Each crowd a faction, and each faction arm'd? Who fashions of opinion love to change, And think their own the best for being strange; Their own, if it were lasting, they would hate; Yet call it conscience when 't is obstinate. Sir W. Davenant.
We all, my lords, have err'd. Men may, I find, be honest, though they differ. Thomson's Tancred and Sigismunda. For still the world prevail'd, and its dread laugh, Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn. Thomson's Seasons.
How much there is self-will would do,
Were it not for the dire dismay That bids ye shrink, as ye suddenly think Of "what will my neighbours say?"
He lov'd his kind, but sought the love of few, And valued old opinions more than new. Park Benjamin. Yet in opinions look not always back;
Chapman's Widow's Tears. Your wake is nothing, mind the coming track; Leave what you've done for what you have to do, Don't be "consistent," but be simply true.
Let not opinion make thy judgment err; The evening conquest crowns the conqueror.
A little fire is quickly trodden out; Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench. Shaks. Henry VI. Part III.
Our hands are full of business; let's away; Advantage feeds them fat, while men delay.
Shaks. Henry IV. Part I.
The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd, And not neglected; else, if heaven would, And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse, The proffer'd means of succour and redress. Shaks. Richard II.
Occasion, set on wing, flies fast away, Whose back once turned, no hold-fast can we
Her feet are swift, bald is her head behind: Whoso hath hold, and after lets her go, Doth lose the lot which fortune did bestow. Mirror for Magistrates. Opportunity to statesmen, is as the just degree Of heat to chymists; it perfects all the work. Suckling's Brennoralt. The old Scythians
Painted blind fortune's powerful hands with wings, To show her gifts come swift and suddenly, Which, if her fav'rite be not swift to take, He loses them for ever.
Chapman's Busy D'Ambois. Accursed opportunity!
The midwife and the bawd to all our vices: That work'st our thoughts into desires: desires To resolutions: and these being ripe and quicken'd, Thou giv'st 'em birth, and bring'st 'em forth to action.
OPPRESSION.-(See TYRANNY.)
With studied impropriety of speech, He soars beyond the hackney critic's reach; To epithets allots emphatic state, Whilst principles ungrac'd, like lacquies wait; In ways first trodden by himself excels, And stands alone in undeclinables; Conjunction, preposition, adverb join
To stamp new vigour on the nervous line; In monosyllables his thunders roll, He, she, it, and we, ye, they, fright the soul. Churchill's Rosciad. Statesman all over! in plots famous grown! He mouths a sentence, as curs mouth a bone. Churchill's Rosciad While words of learned length, and thund'ring sound,
Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around; And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew That one small head should carry all he knew. Goldsmith's Deserted Village.
Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining. Goldsmith's Retaliation. So quick the words too, when he deign'd to speak, As if each syllable would break its neck.
Dr. Wolcot's Peter Pindar.
Proud of his "hear hims," proud too of his vote And last virginity of oratory,
Proud of his learning (just enough to quote), He revell'd in his Ciceronian glory: With memory excellent to get by rote, With wit to hatch a pun or tell a story, Graced with some merit and with more effrontery, "His country's pride;" he came down to the country.
His speech was a fine sample, on the whole, Of rhetoric, which the learn'd call "rigmarole." Byron.
He answer'd like a statesman or a prophet,
In such guise that she could make nothing of it. Byron.
He scratch'd his ear, the infallible resource To which embarrass'd people have recourse.
Sense of pleasure we may well Spare out of life perhaps, and not repine, But live content, which is the calmest life: But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience
Unreasonable creatures feed their young; And tho' man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them, even with those wings Which sometimes they have us'd with fearful flight,
Milton's Paradise Lost. Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Off'ring their own lives in their young's defence? Shaks. Henry VI. Part III.
Our pains are real things, and all Our pleasures but fantastical; Diseases of their own accord, But cures come difficult and hard.
Butler's Hudibras. Thee, too, my Paridel! she mark'd thee there, Stretch'd on the rack of a too easy chair, And heard thy everlasting yawn confess The pains and penalties of idleness.
When, with too strict a rein, they do hold in Their child's affections; and control that love, Which the powers divine instruct them with: When in their shallow judgments, they may know Affection cross'd, brings misery and woe.
Robert Taylour's Hog hath lost its Pearl. Fathers their children, and themselves abuse; That wealth, a husband, for their daughters choose. Shirley's School of Compliments
Honour thy parents to prolong thine end; With them, though for a truth, do not contend: Though all should truth defend, do thou lose rather The truth awhile, than lose their love for ever: Whoever makes his father's heart to bleed, Shall have a child that will revenge the deed.
That I shall say-good night till it be to-morrow. Shaks. Romeo and Juliet. "Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silken thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty.
Shaks. Romeo and Juliet. Farewell; God knows, when we shall meet again, I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life.
Art thou gone so? my love! my lord! my friend! I must hear from thee ev'ry day i' the hour, For in a minute there are many days: Oh! by this count I shall be much in years, Ere I again behold my Romeo!
I did not take my leave of him, but I had Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him, How I would think on him, at certain hours, Such thoughts, and such; or I could make him
The shes of Italy should not betray
Mine interest, and his honour; or ere I could Give him that parting kiss, which I had set Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father, And like the tyrannous breathing of the north, Shakes all our buds from growing.
As he could make me with his eye or ear Distinguish him from others, he did keep The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, Still waving as the fits and stirs of his mind Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,— How swift his ship.
And even there, his eye being big with tears, Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, And with affection wondrous sensible, He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted. Shaks. Merchant of Venice. Farewell: the leisure and the fearful time
Shaks. Romeo and Juliet. Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love,
What! gone without a word?
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak : For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona. Sweet Valentine, adieu! Think on thy Porteus, when thou, haply, seest Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel: Wish me partaker in thy happiness,
And ample interchange of sweet discourse, Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon; God give us leisure for these rites of love! Once more, adieu!
Shaks. Richard III. And whether we shall meet again, I know not. Therefore our everlasting farewell take:- For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius! If we do meet again why we shall smile;
When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy If not, why then this parting was well made.
If ever danger do environ thee,
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
For I will be tny beadsman, Valentine. Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona.
I would have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd them, but
To look upon him; till the diminution
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle: Nav, follow'd him, till he had melted from
The smallness of a gnat to air; and then Have turn'd mine eye and wept.
Shaks. Julius Cæsar. And so, without more circumstance at all, I hold it fit, that we shake hands and part: You, as your business, and desire, shall point you: For every man hath business and desire, Such as it is, - and for my own poor part, Look you, I will go pray.
With that, wringing my hand he turns away, And tho' his tears would hardly let him look, Yet such a look did through his tears make way, As show'd how sad a farewell there he took. Daniel's Arcadia.
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