Imatges de pÓgina


The promised land

Lies at my feet in all its loveliness!

To him who starts up from a terrible dream,
And lo, the sun is shining, and the lark
Singing aloud for joy, to him is not
Such sudden ravishment as now I feel
At the first glimpses of fair Italy.


Rogers's Italy.

To doubt's an injury; to suspect a friend
Is breach of friendship: Jealousy's a seed
Sown but in vicious minds; prone to distrust,
Because apt to deceive.

Lansdown's Heroic Love.

Oh Jealousy! Thou bane of pleasing friendship,
Thou worst invader of our tender bosoms;
How does thy rancour poison all our softness,
And turn our gentle natures into bitterness!

Rowe's Jane Shore, a. 3, s. 1.

Jealousy, said'st thou? I disdain it :-No-
Distrust is poor, and a misplac'd suspicion

Invites, and justifies the falsehood fear'd. Hill's Zara.
Hence Jealousy; thou fatal lying fiend,

Thou false seducer of our hearts, begone.

C. Johnson's Sultaness.

Passions, if great, though turn'd to their reverse,
Keep their degree, and are great passions still.
And she who, when she thinks her lover false,
Retains her temper, never lost her heart.

Young's Brothers, a. 4.

I've seen and heard

Enough, beyond suspicion's pale distrusts,
To damn me with the knowledge of my fate.

Beckingham's Henry IV. of France.

Oh! the pain of pains,

Is when the fair one, whom our soul is fond of,
Gives transport, and receives it from another.

Young's Busiris.

O jealousy, each other passion's calm
To thee, thou conflagration of the soul!

Thou king of torments! thou grand counterpoise
For all the transports beauty can inspire!

Young's Revenge, a. 2.

It is jealousy's peculiar nature

To swell small things to great; nay, out of nought
To conjure much; and then to lose its reason
Amid the hideous phantoms it has formed. Ibid. a. 3.

O Jealousy! thou most unnatural offspring

Of a too tender parent! that in excess
Of fondness feeds thee, like the pelican,
But with her purest blood; and in return

Thou tear'st the bosom whence thy nurture flows.

Frowde's Philotas.

O Jealousy! thou merciless destroyer,

More cruel than the grave! what ravages

Does thy wild war make in the noblest bosoms!

Mallet's Euridice.

Ten thousand furies lash my soul with whips,
At ev'ry look sharp stings transfix my heart,
And my chill'd blood thrills cold thro' ev'ry vein!
Darcy's Love and Ambition.

All other passions have their hour of thinking,
And hear the voice of reason. This alone
Breaks at the first suspicion into frenzy,

And sweeps the soul in tempests.

Francis's Constantine.

See, his audacious face he turns to hers;
Utt'ring with confidence some nauseous jest.
And she endures it too-Oh! this looks vilely!

Joanna Baillie's De Montford, a. 4, s. 2.
O jealousy,

Thou ugliest fiend of hell! thy deadly venom
Preys on my vitals, turns the healthful hue
Of my fresh cheek to haggard sallowness,
And drinks my spirit up!

Hannah More's David and Goliah, pt. 1.
In those hearts,

Love unlibidinous reign'd, nor jealousy.

Was understood, the injur'd lover's hell.

Milton's Paradise Lost, b. 5.

Then shall I be no more,

And Adam wedded to another Eve,

Shall live with her enjoying, I extinct;

A death to think.

Ibid, b. 9.

But thro' the heart

Should jealousy its venom once diffuse,
'Tis then delightful misery no more,
But agony unmix'd, incessant gall,
Corroding every thought, and blasting all
Love's paradise. Ye fairy prospects then,
Ye beds of roses, and ye bowers of joy,
Farewell! ye gleamings of departed peace,
Shine out your last! the yellow tinging plague
Internal vision taints, and in a night

Of livid gloom imagination wraps.

Thomson's Seasons-Spring.

Ten thousand fears

Invented wild, ten thousand frantic views
Of horrid rivals, hanging on the charms
For which he melts in fondness, eat him up
With fervent anguish, and consuming rage.



There's not a slave, a shackled slave of mine,
But should have smil'd that hour thro' all his care,
And shook his chains in transport and rude harmony.
Congreve's Mourning Bride.

Were my whole life to come one heap of troubles,
The pleasure of this moment would suffice,
And sweeten all my griefs with its remembrance.

Lee's Mithridates.

I cannot speak, tears so obstruct my words
And choak me with unutterable joy.

Otway's Caius Marius.

Joys are for the gods;

Man's common course of nature is distress:
His joys are prodigies; and like them too,
Portend approaching ill. The wise man starts,
And trembles at the perils of a bliss.

Young's Brothers, a. 5.

A springing joy,

A pleasure, which no language can express,

An extasy, that mothers only feel,

Plays round my heart, and brightens up my sorrow,

Like gleams of sunshine in a low'ring sky.

A. Philip's Distrest Mother.

Well, there is yet one day of life before me,
And, whatsoe'er betide, I will enjoy it.

Joanna Baillie's Basil, a. 2, s. 2.

From the sad years of life

We sometimes do short hours, yea, minutes strike,
Keen, blissful, bright, never to be forgotten;
Which, thro' the dreary gloom of time o'erpast,
Shine like fair sunny spots on a wild waste.

Joanna Baillie's De Montford, a, 1, s. 1.

O fleeting joys

Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes!

Milton's Paradise Lost, b. 10.


I would bring balm, and pour it in

your wound,

Cure your distemper'd mind, and heal your fortunes.

Dryden's All for Love.

Thy words have darted hope into my soul,

And comfort dawns upon me.

Southern's Disappointment.

A willing heart adds feather to the heel,
And makes the clown a winged Mercury.

Joanna Baillie's De Montford, a. 3, s. 1.

So cheer'd he his fair spouse, and she was cheer'd,
But silently a gentle tear let fall

From either eye, and wip'd them with her hair;
Two other precious drops that ready stood,
Each in their chrystal sluice, he ere they fell
Kiss'd, as the gracious signs of sweet remorse
And pious awe, that fear'd to have offended.

Milton's Paradise Lost, b. 5.

Generous as brave,

Affection, kindness, the sweet offices

Of love and duty, were to him as needful

As his daily bread.


Rogers's Italy.

Kings' titles commonly begin by force,
Which time wears off, and mellows into right;
And power, which in one age is tyranny,
Is ripen'd in the next to true succession.

Dryden's Spanish Friar.

There like a statue thou hast stood besieg'd
By sycophants and fools, the growth of courts:

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