Imatges de pÓgina

On piety, humanity is built,

And on humanity, much happiness.

Young's Night Thoughts, n. 8.

Man may dismiss compassion from his heart,

But God will never.

Cowper's Task, b. 6.


There's a proud modesty in merit!

Averse from asking, and resolv'd to pay

Ten times the gift it asks.

Dryden's Cleomenes.

Merit like his, the fortune of the mind,
Beggars all wealth,

Thomson's Tancred and Sigismunda.


The mind doth shape itself to its own wants,

And can bear all things.

Joanna Baillie's Rayner, a. 5, s. 2.

Hail horrors, hail

Infernal world, and thou profoundest hell
Receive thy new possessor; one who brings
A mind not to be chang'd by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n.

Milton's Paradise Lost, b. 1.

Mind, mind alone, (bear witness earth and heaven!) The living fountains in itself contains

Of beauteous and sublime: here, hand in hand, paramount the graces; here enthron'd, Celestial Venus, with divinest airs,


Invites the soul to never-fading joy.

Akenside's Pleasures of Imagination, b. 1.

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Look then abroad through nature, to the range
Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres,
Wheeling unshaken through the void immense;
And speak, O man, does this capacious scene
With half that kindling majesty dilate

Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose
Refulgent from the stroke of Cæsar's fate,
Amid the crowd of patriots; and his arm

Aloft extending, like eternal Jove,

When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud
On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel,
And bade the father of his country hail ?.
For lo! the tyrant prostrate on the dust,
And Rome again is free!

Akenside's Pleasures of Imagination, b, 2.

The immortal mind, superior to his fate,
Amid the outrage of external things,
Firm as the solid base of this great world,

Rests on his own foundations. Blow, ye winds!
Ye waves! ye thunders! roll your tempests on;
Shake, ye old pillars of the marble sky!

Till all its orbs and all its worlds of fire
Be loosen'd from their seats; yet still serene,
The unconquer'd mind looks down upon the wreck ;
And ever stronger as the storms advance,

Firm through the closing ruin holds his way,
Where nature calls him to the destin'd goal!

The gaudy glass of fortune only strikes
The vulgar eye; the suffrage of the wise,
The praise that's worth ambition, is attain'd
By sense alone, and dignity of mind.


Armstrong's Art of Preserving Health, b. 4.


He is so full of pleasant anecdote,

So rich, so gay, so poignant is his wit,

Time vanishes before him as he speaks,

And ruddy morning through the lattice peeps,
Ere night seems well begun.

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


The scum

That rises upmost, when the nation boils.

Dryden's Don Sebastian.

Some popular chief,

More noisy than the rest, but cries halloo,
And in a trice the bellowing herd come out;
The gates are barr'd, the ways are barricado'd:
And one and all's the word: true cocks o' th' game!
They never ask for what, or whom they fight;
But turn 'em out, and shew 'em but a foe;
Cry Liberty, and that's a cause for quarrel.

Dryden's Spanish Friar.

These slaves,

These wide-mouth'd brutes, that bellow thus for free


Oh! how they run before the hand of pow'r,
Flying for shelter into every brake !

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Otway's Caius Marius.

Ah! can you bear contempt? The venom'd tongue
Of those whom ruin pleases? The keen sneer,
The lewd reproaches of the rascal herd;
Who for the self-same actions, if successful,
Would be as grossly lavish in your praise ?

Thomson's Agamemnon, a. 5, s. I.

The multitude unaw'd is insolent;

Once seiz'd with fear, centemptible and vain.

Mallet's Mustapha.

What, dare the ungrateful miscreants thus return
The many favours of my princely grace?
'Tis ever thus: indulgence spoils the base;
Raising up pride, and lawless turbulence,
Like noxious vapours from the fulsome marsh
When morning shines upon it.

Joanna Baillie's Basil, a. 2, s. 3.

These slaves, whom I have nurtur'd, pamper'd, fed,
And swol❜n with peace, and gorg'd with plenty, till
They reign themselves-all monarch in their mansions
Now swarm forth in rebellion, and demand
His death, who made their lives a jubilee.

Byron's Sardanapalus, a. 4, s. 1.

What the people but a herd confus'd,

A miscellaneous rabble, who extol

Things vulgar, and well weigh'd, scarce worth the praise?

They praise, and they admire they know not what,
And know not whom, but as one leads the other;
And what delight to be by such extoll'd,

To live upon their tongues, and be their talk,
Of whom to be disprais'd were no small praise?
Milton's Paradise Regained, b. 3.

Inconstant, blind,
Deserting friends at need, and dup'd by foes;
Loud and seditious, when a chief inspir'd
Their headlong fury, but, of him' depriv'd,
Already slaves that lick'd the scourging hand.


Thomson's Liberty.

That modest grace subdu'd my soul,
That chastity of look which seems to hang,
A veil of purest light o'er all her beauties,
And by forbidding most inflames desire !

Young's Busiris.

He saw her charming, but he saw not half
The charms her downcast modesty conceal'd.
Thomson's Seasons-Autumn.

The modest virtues mingled in her eyes,
Still on the ground dejected, darting all

Their humid beams into the blooming flowers. Ibid.


The queen of night

Shines fair with all her virgin stars about her.

Otway's Caius Marius.

My own loved light,

That every soft and solemn spirit worships,
That lovers love so well-strange joy is thine,
Whose influence o'er all tides of soul hath power,
Who lend'st thy light to rapture and despair;-
The glow of hope and wan hue of sick fancy
Alike reflect thy rays: alike thou lightest
The path of meeting or of parting love→
Alike on mingling or on breaking hearts
Thou smil'st in thron'd beauty.

Maturin's Bertram, a. 2, s 3.

The neighb'ring moon

(So call that opposite fair star) her aid

Timely interposes, and her monthly round
Still ending, still renewing, through mid Heaven,
With borrow'd light her countenance triform
Hence fills and empties to enlighten th' earth,
And in her pale dominion checks the night.

Milton's Paradise Lost, b. 3.

Now thro' the passing cloud she seems to stoop,
Now up the pure cerulean rides sublime.
Wide the pale deluge floats, and streaming mild
O'er the sky'd mountain to the shadowy vale,

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