To lose good days that might be better spent,
To waste long nights in pensive discontent,
To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow;
To feed on hope, to pine with fear to-morrow;
To have thy princess' grace, yet want her peers';
To have thy asking yet wait many years;
To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares;
To eat thy heart through comfortless despaires;
To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to ronne,
To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne,
Unhappy wight, born to disastrous end,
That doth his life in so long tendence spend.
Spenser's Mother Hubbard's Tale.
'Tis common in such base fellows, such court
Spiders, that weave their webs of flattery
In the ears of greatness; if they can once
Entangle them in their quaint treachery,
They poison them straight.

And bid her steal into the pleached bower,
Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the sun,
Forbid the sun to enter; like favourites,
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride
Against that power that bred it.

Shaks. Much ado.

Live loath'd and long,

Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites,
Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears.
You fools of fortune, trencher friends, time's flies,
Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute jacks.
Shaks. Timon.

Others there are,

Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves;
And throwing but shows of service on their lords,
Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lin'd
their coats,

Do themselves homage: these fellows have some
soul;

John Day's Isle of Gulls. And such a one do I profess myself.

To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns,
To show how much thou art degenerate.

To poise themselves, and sometimes creep,
When th' way is difficult and steep:
So those at court, that do address,
By low ignoble offices,

Can stoop at any thing that's base,
To wriggle into trust and grace,
Are like to rise to greatness sooner,
Than those that go by worth and honour.
Butler's Hudibras.

I in no soul-consumption wait
Whole years at levees of the great,
And hungry hopes regale the while
On the spare diet of a smile.

Green's Spleen.

How many men

Have spent their blood in their dear country's
service,

Shaks. Henry IV. Part I. Yet now pine under want; while selfish slaves,
That even would cut their throats whom now they

But yet I call you servile ministers,
That bave with two pernicious daughters join'd
Yon high engender'd battles, 'gainst a head
Sood and white as this. O, oh! 't is foul.

Shaks. Lear.

fawn on,

Like deadly locusts, cat the honey up,

Which those industrious bees so hardly toil'd for
Otway's Orphan,

See how he sets his countenance for deceit,
And promises a lie before he speaks.

Dryden's All for Love.
He who his prince too blindly does obey,
To keep his faith his virtue throws away.

Dryden.

To mischief bent,

He seldom does a good, with good intent,

Curse on the coward or perfidious tongue,
That dares not ev'n to kings avow the truth.
Thomson's Agamemnon.

What are such wretches? what but vapours foul,
From fens and bogs, by royal beams exhal'd,
That radiance intercepting which should cheer
The land at large? Hence subjects' hearts grow
cold,

Wayward but wise; by long experience taught And frozen loyalty forgets to flow.

To please both parties, for ill ends, he sought:
For this advantage age from youth has won,
As not to be out-ridden though outrun.

Dryden's Palemon and Arcite.
They smile and bow, and hug, and shake the hand,
Ev'n while they whisper to the next assistant
Some cursed plot to blast its owner's head.
Beller's Injured Innocence.

I am no courtier, no fawning dog of state,
To lick and kiss the hand that buffets me;
Nor can I smile upon my guest, and praise
His stomach, when I know he feeds on poison,
And death disguis'd sits grinning at my table.
Sewell's Sir Walter Raleigh.

Young's Brothers.

Men, that would blush at being thought sincere,
And feign, for glory, the few faults they want;
That love a lie, where truth would pay as well;
As if to them, vice shone her own reward.
Young's Night Thoughts
Who wrap
destruction up in gentle words,
And bows, and smiles more fatal than their swords
Who stifle nature and subsist on art:
Who coin the face, and petrify the heart:
All real kindness for the show discard,
As marble polish'd and as marble hard:
Who do for gold what Christians do thro' grace,
With open arms their enemies embrace :"
Who give a nod when broken hearts repine,
"The thinnest food on which a wretch can dine:"
Or, if they serve you, scrve you disinclin’d:
And, in their height of kindness, are unkind.

46

A courtier's dependant is a beggar's dog.

Young.

Shenstone.

Purblind to poverty the worldling goes,
And scarce sees rags an inch beyond his nose,
But from a crowd can single out his grace,
And cringe and creep to fools who strut in lace.
Churchill.

The courtier smooth, who forty years had shin'd
An humble servant to all human kind,
Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue
could stir,

'If—where I'm going-I could serve you sir!" Pope's Moral Essays.

At this entranc'd he lifts his hands and eyes,
Squeaks like a high-stretch'd lute-string, and re.
plies;

"Oh! 'tis the sweetest of all earthly things,
"To gaze on princes, and to talk of kings:"
Then happy man who shows the tombs! said 1,
He dwells amidst the royal family :

He ev'ry day from king to king can walk,
Of all our Harries, all our Edwards talk;
And get by speaking truth of monarchs dead,
What few can of the living-ease and bread

With age, with cares, with maladies oppress'd
He seeks the refuge of monastic rest;
Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings,
And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings.

Dr. Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes.
Condemn'd a needy suppliant to wait,
While ladies interpose and slaves debate.

Dr. Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes.
To shake with laughter ere the jest they hear,
To pour at will the counterfeited tear;
And, as her patron hints the cold or heat,
To shake in dog-days, in December sweat.
Dr. Johnson's London.

A lazy, proud, unprofitable crew,
The vermin gender'd from the rank corruption
Of a luxurious state.

Cumberland's Timon of Athens.

There is a public mischief in your mirth;
It plagues your country. Folly such as yours
Grac'd with a sword, and worthier of a fan,
Has made, which enemies could ne'er have done,
Our arch of empire, stedfast but for you,
A mutilated structure soon to fall.

Cowper's Task.
Ungrateful scoundrels! cat my roils and butter,
And daring thus their insolence to mutter!
Swallow my turtle and my beef by pounds,
And tear my ven'son like a pack of hounds,
Yet have the impudence, the brazen face
To say I am not fitted for the place.

Dr. Wolcot's Peter Pindar.

Prepar'd for ev'ry insult, servile train,
To take a kicking, and to fawn again.

Who toils for nations may be poor indeed,
But free; who sweats for monarchs is no more
Than the gilt chamberlain, who, cloth'd and fee'd.
Stands sleek and slavish, bowing at his door.
Byron's Dante.

He was a cold, good, honourable man,
Proud of his birth, and proud of every thing;
A goodly spirit for a state divan,

A figure fit to walk before a king;

Tall, stately, form'd to lead the courtly van
On birthdays, glorious with a star and string;
The model of a chamberlain.
very
Byron.
And none did love him-though to hall and bower,
He gather'd followers from far and near;
He knew them flatterers of the festal hour,
The heartless parasites of present cheer.
Byron's Childe Harold

COURTSHIP.

And otherwhyles with amorous delights
And pleasing toyes he would her entertaine,
Now singing sweetly to surprise her sprights,
Now making layes of love and lover's paine,
Bransles, ballads, virelayes, and verses vaine!
Oft purposes, oft riddles, he devys'd;
And thousands like which flowed in his braine,
With which he fed her fancy, and entys'd
To take to his new love, and leave her old despys'd.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.

His feeling wordes her feeble sense much pleased,
And softly sunk into her molten heart:
Dr. Wolcot's Peter Pindar. Heart that is inly hurt is greatly eased

So warily a courtier speaks,
They seem to talk with halters round their necks.
Dr. Wolcot's Peter Pindar.

A toad-eater's an imp I dont admire;
Nor royal small-talk doth my soul desire;
I've seen my sovereign-that's enough for me.
Dr. Wolcot's Peter Pindar.

A simple race, they waste their toil,
For the vain tribute of a smile.

Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel.
Yes-such was the man and so wretched his fate;
And thus, sooner or later, shall all have to grieve,
Who waste their morn's dew in the beams of the
great,

And expect 't will return to refresh them at eve!
Moore on the Death of Sheridan.
A mere court butterfly,

that Hutters in the pageant of a monarch.
Byron's Sardanapalus.

With hope of thing that may allegge his smart;
For pleasing wordes are like to magick art,
That doth the charmed snake in slumber lay.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.
Imagine with thy

Self all are to be won; otherwise mine
Advice were as unnecessary as
Thy labour. It is impossible for
The brittle mettle of women to withstand
The flattering attempts of men: only this,
Let them be ask'd, their sex requires no less;
Their modesties are to be allow'd so much.

Lilly's Sappho and Pkaon,

It is your virtuc, being men, to try;
And it is ours, by virtue to deny.

Drayton.

A man's a fool

If not instructed in a woman's school.
Beaumont and Fletcher's Spanish Curate.

If she do frown, 't is not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you:
If she do chide, 't is not to have you gone;
For why, the fools are mad if left alone.
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;
For-get you gone-she doth not mean-away.
Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona.

Into these ears of mine,

Come then, ye virgins, and ye youths, whose hearts
Have felt the raptures of refining love;
And thou, Amanda, come, pride of my song!
Form'd by the graces, loveliness itself!
Come with those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet,
Those looks demure, that deeply pierce the soul,
Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mix'd,
Shines lively fancy, and the feeling heart:

These credulous ears, he pour'd the sweetest words Oh come! and while the rosy-footed May
That art or love could frame.
Steals blushing on, together let us tread

Beaumont's Maid's Tragedy. The morning dews, and gather in their prime

He that will win his dame, must do
As love does when he bends his bow;
With one hand thrust the lady from,
And with the other pull her home.

She that with poetry is won,

Is but a desk to write upon;

Fresh blooming flowers to grace thy braided hair
And thy lov'd bosom that improves their sweets.
Thomson's Seasons.

His folded flock secure, the shepherd home

Butler's Hudibras. Hics merry-hearted; and by turns relieves

Mention'd the business to her all alone,
Poor soul she blush'd as if already she
Had done some harm by hearing of me speak;
Whilst from her pretty eyes two fountains ran
So true, so native, down her fairest cheeks;
As if she thought herself oblig'd to cry,
'Cause all the world was not so good as she.

John Fountain's Rewards of Virtue.

Like conquering tyrants you our breasts invade,
Where you are pleas'd to ravage for a while:
But soon you find new conquests out and leave
The ravag'd province ruinate and bare.

Otway's Orphan.
Trust me- with women worth the being won,
The softest lover ever best succeeds.

Hill's Alzira.

1 am not form'd, by flattery and praise,
By sighs and tears, and all the whining trade
Of love, to feed a fair one's vanity;
To charm at once and spoil her.

Thomson's Tancred and Sigismunda.

The ruddy milk-maid of her brimming pail;
The beauty whom perhaps his witless heart,
Unknowing what the joy-mix'd anguish means,
Sincerely loves, by that best language shown
Of cordial glances, and obliging deeds.

Thomson's Seasons.

Now from the world,

Sacred to sweet retirement, lovers steal,
And pour their souls in transport.

Thomson's Seasons.

She, proud to rule, yet strangely fram'd to tease,
Neglects his offers while her airs she plays,
Shoots scornful glances from the bended frown,
In brisk disorder trips it up and down;
Then hums a careless tune to lay the storm,
And sits and blushes, smiles, and yields in form.
Parnell's Hesiod
From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?
Too soon they taught me, 't was no sin to love.

Pope's Eloisa.

Some squire, perhaps you take delight to rack,
Whose game is whist, whose treat a toast in sack,
Who visits with a gun, presents you birds,
Then gives a smacking buss and cries-no words,
Or with his hounds comes hallooing from the stable,
Makes love with nods and knees beneath the table;
Whose laughs are hearty, though his jests are

coarse,

And loves you best of all things, but his horse.
l'ope.
O days remember'd well! remember'd all!
The bitter sweet, the honey and the gall;
Those garden rambles in the silent night,
Those trees so shady, and that moon so bright,
That thickset alley by the arbour clos'd,
That woodbine seat where we at last repos'd;
And then the hopes that came and then were gone,
Quick as the clouds beneath the moon past on.

Crabbe.