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PHILOSOPHY,

How charming is divine philosophy!

Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,
But musical as is Apollo's lute,

And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets,
Where no crude surfeit reigns.

Milton's Comus.

Deluded man! who fondly proud of reason,
Think'st that thy crazy nature's privilege,
Which is thy great tormentor! Senseless fools,
In stupid dulness bless'd, are only happy;
They feel no threat'ning evils at a distance:
Never reflect on their past miseries :
Their solid comfort is their want of sense.

But reason is the tyrant of the mind;

Awakes our thoughts to all our cares and griefs;
Distracts our hopes, and in a thousand shapes
Presents our fears to multiply our woes.

Smith's Princess of Parmis

Philosophy consists not

In airy schemes, or idle speculations :
The rule and conduct of all social life
Is her great province. Not in lonely cells
Obscure she lurks, but holds her heav'nly light,
To senates and to kings, to guide their councils,
And teach them to reform and bless mankind.

Thomson's Coriolanus.

Reason! the hoary dotard's dull directress,
That loses all because she hazards nothing:
Reason! the tim'rous pilot, that to shun
The rocks of life, for ever flies the port.

Dr. Johnson's Irenes

Alas! had reason ever yet the power
To talk down grief, or bid the tortur'd wretch
Not feel his anguish ? 'tis impossible.

Whitehead's Roman Father's

There is a calm upon me→ Inexplicable stillness! which till now Did not belong to what I know of life. If that I did not know philosophy To be of all our vanities the motliest, The merest word that ever fool'd the ear From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem The golden secret, the sought "Kalon" found, And seated in my soul. Byron's Manfred, a. 3, s. 1.

Others apart sat on a hill retir'd,

In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high
Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate,
Fix'd fate, free will, foreknowledge, absolute,
And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.

Milton's Paradise Lost, b. 2.

Serene philosophy,

Effusive source of evidence and truth!
Without thee what were unenlighten'd man?
A savage, roaming through the woods and wilds,
Rough clad, devoid of every finer art

And elegance of life.

Much learned dust,

Involves the combatants, each claiming truth,

Thomson.

And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend
The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp,
In playing tricks with nature, giving laws
To distant worlds, and trifling in their own.

PITY.

Cowper's Task, b. 3.

I find a pity hangs upon his breasts,

Like gentle dew, that cools all cruel passions.

Howard's Duke of Lerma.

Nature has cast me in so soft a mould,
That but to hear a story feign'd for pleasure,
Of some sad lover's death, moistens my eyes,
And robs me of my manhood.

Dryden's All for Love. Her very judges wrung their hands for pity; Their old hearts melted in 'em as she spoke, And tears ran down upon their silver beards.

Rowe's Lady Jane Grey, a. 5, s. 1.

Those moving tears will quite dissolve my frame: They melt that soul which threats could never shake. Higgon's Generous Conqueror.

The generous heart,

Should scorn a pleasure which gives others pain.

A

Thomson's Sophonisba, a. 5, s. 2.

generous warmth opens the hero's soul,

And soft compassion flows where courage dwells.

Ch. Johnson's Medæa.

The brave are ever tender,

And feel the miseries of suffering virtue.

Martyn's Timoleon.

Why clingest thou to my raiment ? Thy grasp of grief is stronger on my heartFor sterner oft our words than feelings are.

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

The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes,
And feel for what their duty bids them do.

Byron's Doge of Venice, a. 2, s. 2.
PLEASURE.

Pleasure never comes sincere to man:
But lent by Heaven upon hard usury.

Dryden's Edipus.

Methinks I've cast full twenty years aside,
And am again a boy. Every breath

Of air that trembles thro' the window bears

Unusual odour.

Proctor's Mirandola, a. 1, s. 3.

What's i' the air?

Some subtle spirit runs thro' all my veins.
Hope seems to ride this morning on the wind,
And joy outshines the sun.

How happy art thou man, when thou'rt no more
Thyself! when all the pangs that grind thy soul,
In rapture and sweet oblivion lost,

Yield a shrot interval, and ease from pain!

Ibid.

Somervile's Chase, b. 3.

Oh the dark days of vanity! while here,
How tasteless! and how terrible, when gone!
Gone! they ne'er go; when past, they haunt us still;
The spirit walks of ev'ry day deceas'd;

And smiles an angel, or a fury frowns.

Young's Night Thoughts, n. 2.

Whom call we gay? That honour has been long
The boast of mere pretenders to the name.
The innocent are gay-the lark is gay.
That dries his feathers saturate with dew
Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams
Of day-spring overshoot his humble nest.

Cowper's Task, b. 1.

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Invoke thy aid to my advent'rous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above th' Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.

Milton's Paradise Lost, b. I.

POISON.

It scatters pains,

All sorts, and thro' all nerves, veins, and arteries,
Ev'n with extremity of frost it burns;
Drives the distracted soul about her house,
Who runs to all the pores, the doors of life,
Till she is forc'd for aid to leave her dwelling.
Lee's Alexander.

POPULARITY.

I have no taste

Of popular applause: The noisy praise
Of giddy crowds as changeable as winds;
Still vehement, and still without a cause :
Servants to chance, and blowing in the tide
Of swol❜n success; but veering with the ebb,
It leaves the channel dry. Dryden's Spanish Friar.
Curse on his virtues! they've undone his country.
Such popular humanity is treason. Addison's Cato.

O breath of public praise,

Short-liv'd and vain! oft gain'd without desert,
As often lost, unmerited: composed

But of extremes :-Thou first begin'st with love
Enthusiastic, madness of affection; then,
(Bounding o'er moderation and o'er reason)
Thou turn'st to hate, as causeless, and as fierce.
Havard's Regulus.

He who can listen pleas'd to such applause,
Buys at a dearer rate than I dare purchase,
And pays for idle air with sense and virtue.

Mallett's Mustapha.

Towards him they bend

With awful reverence prone; and as a god
Extol him equal to the High'st in heav'n.

Milton's Paradise Lost, b. 2.

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