And scanty hairs, and shaking hands, and heads Were no more than the feelings long extinguish'd Byron's Two Foscari, a. 2, s. 1. Is far the worst of treasons. Tyranny None rebels except subjects? Ibid. a. 2, They have gone beyond Even their exorbitance of power; and when S. 1. lbid. a. 5, s. 1. The people!-There's no people, you well know it, May shame you; but they dare not groan nor curse you, Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that Of blood and chains? The despotism of vice- Of sensual sloth-produce ten thousand tyrants, The worst acts of one energetic master, Ibid. Byron's Sardanapalus, a. 1, s. 2. With common men There needs too oft the show of war to keep The substance of sweet peace; and for a king, 'Tis sometimes better to be fear'd than loved. Ibid. So spake the fiend, and with necessity, Come! by whatever sacred name disguis'd, Robb'd of his poor reward, resign'd the plow; Thomson's Liberty. Inglorious bondage! humun nature groans, Blair's Grave. Hence charter'd boroughs are such public plagues, In all their private functions, once combined, For dissolution, hurtful to the main. Cowper's Task, b. 4. 'Twas not enough By subtle fraud to snatch a single life! To sate the lust of power: more horrid still, To kill, and numbers sanctified the crime. Still monarchs dream Of universal empire growing up From universal ruin. Blast the design Porteus's Death. Great God of Hosts! nor let thy creatures fall Unpitied victims at ambition's shrine ! Ibid. V. VICE. I hate when vice can bolt her arguments, Milton's Comus. Falsehood and fraud grow up in every soil, Addison's Cato. Ah me! from real happiness we stray, Thomson's Agamemnon, a. 2, s. 7. Virtue's a solid rock, whereat being aim'd, Beaumont's Queen of Corinth. How strange a riddle virtue is! They never miss it, who possess it not; Lord Rochester's Valentinian. A settled virtue, Makes itself a judge; and satisfied within, Smiles at that common enemy, the world. Given to make us wretched! Dryden's Rival Ladies. Is virtue then Ah! sad portion! Depress'd and shewn but in severest trials : Lord Lansdown's Heroic Love. Then, to be good is to be happy: angels With whips and stings. The blest know none of this; But rest in everlasting peace of mind, And find the height of all their heav'n is goodness. Rowe's Fair Penitent, a. 3, s. 1. Virtue never is defac'd! unchang'd By strokes of fate, she triumphs o'er distress, Cibber's Casar in Egypt. If there's a power above us, And that there is, all nature cries aloud How oft that virtue, which some women boast, Deceives herself, and thinks she's passing chaste; O virtue! virtue! as thy joys excel, Thomson's Agamemnon. Thou know'st but little, Zaphna, If thou dost think true virtue is confin'd To climes or systems; no, it flows spontaneous, Be virtuous ends purued by virtuous means, Dr. Johnson's Irene. . Virtue in itself commands its happiness, Francis's Eugenia. A virtuous deed should never be delay'd, The impulse comes from Heav'n, and he who strives A moment to repress it, disobeys The god within his mind. All private virtue is the public fund: Dowe's Sethona. As that abounds, th' state decays, or thrives: And who lends most, is most his country's friend. Jephson's Braganza. This is true glory and renown, when God Recount his praises. Milton's Paradise Regained, b. 3. |