Then, when I am thy captive, talk of chains, Proud limitary cherub, but ere then Far heavier load thyself expect to feel From my prevailing arm, though heav'n's king Ride on thy wings, and thou with thy compeers, Us'd to the yoke, draw'st his triumphant wheels In progress through the road of heav'n star-pav'd. Milton's Paradise Lost.
Our puissance is our own; our own right hand Shall teach us highest deeds, by proof to try Who is our equal: then thou shalt behold Whether by supplication we intend Address, and to begirt the Almighty throne Beseeching or besieging.
I scorn (quoth she) thou coxcomb silly, Quarter or counsel from a foe, If thou canst force me to it, do.
Enough for me: with joy I see The different doom our fates assign; Be thine despair and sceptred care, To triumph and to die are mine.
Torture thou may'st, but thou shalt ne'er despise
Fell is their dint, who're mailed in despair. Maturin's Bertram.
(Nay, never look upon your lord, And lay your hand upon your sword,)
I tell thee thou'rt defied!
And if thou said'st, I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied.
The mountaineer cast glance of pride Along Benledi's living side,
Then fix'd his eye and sable brow, Full on Fitz-James-"How say'st thou now?" These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true; And, Saxon,-I am Roderic Dhu!"
Scott's Lady of the Lake.
The shivering band stood oft aghast, At the impatient glance he cast;— Such glance the mountain eagle threw, As from the cliffs of Ben-venue She spread her dark sails on the wind, And high in middle heaven reclined, With her broad shadow on the lake, Silenced the warbler of the brake.
Scott's Lady of the Laka
On his dark face a scorching clime, And toil had done the work of time, Roughen'd the brow, the temples bared, And sable hairs with silver shared, Yet left what age alone could tame The lip of pride, the eye of flame, The full-drawn lip that upward curled, The eye that seem'd to scorn the world. Scott's Rokeby
The blood will follow, where the knive is driven; The flesh will quiver, where the pincers tear; And sighs and cries by nature grow on pain: But these are foreign to the soul: not mine The groans that issue, or the tears that fall; They disobey me; -on the rack I scorn thee. Young's Revenge. Thou think'st I fear thee, cursed reptile, And hast a pleasure in the damned thought. Though my heart's blood should curdle at thy A life like thine to other wretches — live!
1'll stay and face thee still.
Joanna Baillie's De Montford. On this spot I stand,
The champion of despair-this arm my brand- This breast my panoply—and for my gage- (Oh thou hast reft from me all knightly pledge!) Take these black hairs torn from a head that hates
Byron's Heaven and Earth Go, sun, while mercy holds me up On Nature's awful waste To drink this last and bitter cup
Of grief that man shall taste. Go, tell that night that hides thy face, Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race, On Earth's sepulchral clod, The darkening universe defy
Deep be their dye before that pledge is ransom'd-To quench his immortality, in the heart's blood or mine.
Or shake his trust in God!
No-though of all earth's hope bereft, Life, swords, and vengeance still are left. We'll make yon valley's reeking caves Live in the awe-struck minds of men, Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen.
Stand! the ground 's your own, my braves! Will ye give it up to slaves?
Will ye look for greener graves?
Hope ye mercy still?
What's the mercy despots feel? Hear it in yon cannon's peal, See it on yon bristling steel, Ask it ye who will!
Woe to the British soldiery
That little dread us near! On them shall light at midnight A strange and sudden fear: When waking to their tents on fire, They grasp their arms in vain, And they who stand to face us Are beat to earth again.
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionably, That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them. But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty, To strut before a wanton ambling nymph. Shaks. Richard III Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub, To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to make my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp, That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be belov'd?
Shaks. Henry VI. Part III Nature herself started back when thou wert born, And cried, the work's not mine.
The midwife stood aghast; and when she saw Thy mountain-back, and thy distorted legs, Thy face itself
Half-minted with the royal stamp of man,
And half o'ercome with beast, she doubted long Whose right in thee were more;
And knew not if to burn thee in the flames Were not the holier work.
Am I to blame, if nature threw my body In so perverse a mould! yet when she cast Her envious hand upon my supple joints, Unable to resist, and rumpled them
On heaps in their dark lodging; to revenge Pierpont. Her bungled work, she stamped my mind more
The Lord rebuke thee, thou smiter of the meek, Thou robber of the righteous, thou trampler of the weak!
And as from chaos, huddled and deform'd, The gods struck fire, and lighted up the lamps That beautify the sky; so she inform'd This ill-shap'd body with a daring soul, And, making less than man, she made me more. Lee's Edipus
Deformity is daring; It is its essence to o'ertake mankind By heart and soul, and make itself the equal- Ay, the superior of the rest. There is A spur in its halt movements, to become
Go, light the dark, cold hearth-stones-go turn the All that the others cannot, in such things prison lock
Of the poor hearts thou hast hunted, thou wolfamid the flock. Whittier.
As still are free for both, to compensate For stepdame Nature's avarice at first. Byron's Deformed Transformea
To taunt me with my born deformity?
Byron's Deformed Transformed Glorious ambition!
I love thee most in dwarfs.
These are thy glorious works, parent of good, Almighty thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then! Unspeakable, who sit'st above these heavens, To us invisible, or dimly seen
Byron's Deformed Transformed. In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Neve. aid bring forth a man without a man; Nor could the first man, being but The passive subject, not the active mover, Be the maker of himself; so of necessity There must be a superior pow'r to nature. Tourneur's Atheist's Tragedy.
It is not so with him that all things knows, As 'tis with us, that square our guess by shows: But most it is presumption in us, when The help of heav'n, we count the act of men. Shaks. All's Well. It did not please the gods, who instruct the people : And their unquestion'd pleasures must be serv'd. They know what's fitter for us, than ourselves: And 't were impiety to think against them.
Jonson's Catiline. 'Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as he is, is labour without end.
And chiefly thou, O spirit, that dost prefer, Before all temples, the upright heart and pure, Instruct me, for thou know'st.
Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine. Milton's Paradise Lost.
Beyond compare the son of God was seen Most glorious; in him all his father shone Substantially express'd; and in his face Divine compassion visibly appear'd, Love without end, and without measure grace. Milton's Paradise Lost.
From nature's constant or eccentric laws,
The thoughtful soul this general inference draws, That an effect must pre-suppose a cause: And, while she does her upward flight sustain, Touching each link of the continued chain, At length she is oblig'd and forc'd to see A first, a source, a life, a deity; What has for ever been, and must for ever be. Prior's Soloman.
In this wild maze their vain endeavours end; How can the less the greater comprehend, Or finite reason reach infinity? For what could fathom God were more than He. Dryden's Religio Laici.
Hail, source of being! universal soul Of heaven and earth! essential presence, hail! To thee I bend the knee; to thee my thoughts Continual climb; who, with a master hand, Hast the great whole into perfection touch'd. Thomson's Seasons.
With what an awful world-revolving power Were first the unwieldy planets launch'd along The illimitable void! Thus to remain Amid the flux of many thousand years,
Milton's Paradise Lost. That oft has swept the toiling race of men,
For wonderful indeed are all his works, I'leasant to know, and worthiest to be all Had in remembrance always with delight; But what created mind can comprehend Their number, or the wisdom infinite That brought them forth, but hid their causes deep. Milton's Paradise Lost.
And all their labour'd monuments away, Firm, unremitting, matchless in their course. To the kind-temper'd change of night and day, And of the scasons ever stealing round, Minutely faithful: such the all-perfect hand! That pois'd, impels, and rules the steady whole.
And yet was every falt'ring tongue of man, Almighty father! silent in thy praise,
The blue, deep, glorious heavens! I lift mine eye And bless thee, O my God! that I have met
Thy works themselves would raise a general voice, And own'd thine image in the majesty Even in the depth of solitary woods,
By human foot untrod, proclaim thy power, And to the quire celestial Thee resound, The eternal cause, support, and end of all! Thomson's Seasons.
Let no presuming impious railer tax Creative wisdom as if aught was form'd In vain, or not for admirable ends. Shall little haughty ignorance pronounce His works unwise of which the smallest part Exceeds the narrow vision of his mind?
Of their calm temple still! - that never yet There hath thy face been shrouded from my sight By noontide blaze, or sweeping storm of night: I bless thee, O my God!
Upholds the earth, and spreads abroad the sky, With none his name and power will he divide, For He is God and there is none beside. James Montgomery
Shun delays, they breed remorse; Take thy time, while time is lent thee; Creeping snails have weakest force; Fly their fault, lest thou repent thee; Good is best when soonest wrought, Ling'ring labours come to naught. Hoist up sail while gale doth last, Tide and wind stay no man's pleasure; Seek not time, when time is past, Sober speed is wisdom's leisure, After-wits are dearly bought, Let thy fore-wit guide thy thought.
Omission to do what is necessary Seals a commission to a blank of danger; And danger, like an ague, subtly taints Even then when we sit idly in the sun.
Shaks. Troilus and Cressida.
O my good lord, that comfort comes too late; 'Tis like a pardon after execution: That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me; But now I'm past all comfort here but prayers. Shaks. Henry VIII. Away towards Salisbury;-while we reason here, Cowper's Task. A royal battle might be won and lost.
Thou dread source, Prime, self-existing cause and end of all That in the scale of being fill their place; Above our human region or below,
Set and sustain'd. Thou, thou alone, O! Lord, Art everlasting!
O, God! Thou wondrous One in Three,
As mortals must Thee deem;
Thou only canst be said to be,
Your gift is princely, but it comes too late, And falls, like sun-beams, on a blasted blossom. Suckling's Brennorall.
Go, fool, and teach a caratact to creep! Can thirst, empire, vengeance, beauty, wait? Young's Brother..
Be wise to-day; 't is madness to defer; Next day the fatal precedent will plead Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life. Voung's Night Thoughts
Lord John Russel's Don Carlos. Save of the winds, be on the unbounded wave!
Wilt thou sit among the ruins,
With all words of cheer unspoken,
Till the silver cord is loosen'd,
Till the golden bowl is broken?
He came too late! Neglect had tried Her constancy too long;
Her love had yielded to her pride,
Angels shall tire their wings, but find no spot: Not even a rock from out the liquid grave Shall lift its point to save,
Or show the place where strong despair hath
After long looking o'er the ocean wide
For the expected ebb which cometh not: All shall be void,
And the deep sense of wrong. She scorn'd the offering of a heart Which linger'd on its way,
Till it would no delight impart, Nor spread one cheering ray.
Byron's Heaven and Earth.
Elizabeth Bogart. Who would rely upon these miserable
Dependencies, in expectation
To be advanced to-morrow? what creature Ever fed worse than hoping Tantalus? Nor ever died any man more fearfully, Than he that hop'd for a pardon?
Webster's Duchess of Malfy.
We, we shall view the deep's salt sources pour'd, I hate dependence on another's will, Until one element shall do the work
Of all in chaos; until they,
The creatures proud of their poor clay, Shall perish, and their bleached bones shall lurk In caves, in dens, in clefts of mountains, where The deep shall follow to their latest lair; Where even the brutes, in their despair, Shall cease to prey on man and on each other, And the striped tiger shall lie down and die Beside the lamb, as though he were his brother: Till all things shall be as they were, Silent and uncreated, save the sky.
Byron's Heaven and Earth. The heavens and earth are mingling-God! Oh
Hark! even the forest beasts howl forth their pray'r! Elected him our absence to supply; The dragon crawls from out his den,
To herd in terror innocent with men;
And the birds scream their agony through air! Byron's Heaven and Earth.
Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love;
And given his deputation all the organs
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