From her his features caught the gen'rous flame, Yet fondly we ourselves deceive, And bade defiance to all sense of shame.
Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.
Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Ev'n as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another;
So the remembrance of my former love,
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona.
There is no music in a voice,
That is but one and still the same;
Inconstancy is but a name,
To fright poor lovers from a better choice.
Joseph Rutter's Shepherd's Holiday.
Inconstancy's the plague that first or last
Paints the whole sex, the catching court disease.
Man therefore was a lord-like creature made;
Rough as the winds and as inconstant too:
A lofty aspect given him for command;
Easily soften'd when he would betray:
Like conquering tyrants, you our breasts invade,
Where you are pleas'd to ravage for a while:
But soon you find new conquest out, and leave
The ravag'd province ruinate and bare.
And empty hopes pursue; Though false to others, we believe They will to us prove truc.
Give me, I cry'd, (enough for me) My bread and independency!
Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, And think it kindness to his majesty; Pope. A stubborn race, fearing and flattering none, Such are they nurtur'd, such they live and die. Halleck's Poems.
Thy spirit, independence, let me share!
Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye,
Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare,
Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.
Deep in the frozen regions of the north,
A goddess violated brought thee forth,
Immortal liberty, whose look sublime
Hath bleach'd the tyrant's cheek in every varying
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Shortly his fortune shall be lifted higher;
True industry doth kindle honour's fire.
Shaks. Cromwell.
Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to heav'n. The sacred sky
Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.
Shaks. All's Well that ends Well Virtue, though chain'd to earth, will still live free; And he!! itself must yield to industry.
Jonson's Masques. Like clocks, one wheel another on must drive; Affairs by diligent labour only thrive.
Chapman's Revenge for Honour. The chiefest action for a man of spirit, Is never to be out of action; we should think The soul was never put into the body, Which has so many rare and curious pieces Of mathematical motion, to stand still. Virtue is ever sowing of her seeds.
Webster's Devil's Law Case. If little labour, little are our gains: Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
Be forc'd to grind the bones out of their arms
For bread, but have some space to think and feel
Like moral and immortal creatures.
Unhappy man! whom sorrow thus and rage
To different ills alternately engage;
Who drinks, alas! but to forget; nor sees
That melancholy sloth, severe discase,
Bailey's Festus. Memory confus'd, and interrupted thought,
Death's harbinger, lie latent in the draught;
And, in the flowers that wreathe the sparkling
bowl,
Protected Industry, careering far,
Detects the cause and cures the rage of war,
And sweeps, with forceful arm, to their last graves,
Kings from the earth and pirates from the waves. Fell adders hiss, and poisonous serpents roll.
There was no need,
In those good times, of trim callisthenics, -
And there was less of gadding, and far more
Of home-born, heartfelt comfort, rooted strong
In industry, and bearing such rare fruit
As wealth may never purchase.
Prior's Soloman. Give him strong drink until he wink,
That's sinking in despair;
An' liquor guid to fire his bluid,
That's prest wi' grief an' care.
There let him bouse an' deep carouse,
Wi' bumpers flowing o'er,
Till he forgets his loves or debts,
An' minds his griefs no more.
Burns's Scotch Drink.
Hath wine an oblivious power?
Can it pluck out the sting from the brain?
The draught might beguile for an hour,
But still leave behind it the pain.
Byron's Farewell to England.
Man, being reasonable, must get drunk;
The best of life is but intoxication:
Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunk
The hopes of all men, and of every nation.
'Tis pity wine should be so deleterious,
Mrs. Sigourney's Poems. For tea and coffee leave us much more serious.
When the glories of our lives, men's loves,
Clear consciences, our fames, and loyalties,
That did us worthy comfort, are eclips'd;
Grief and disgrace invade us: and for all
Our night of life besides, our mis'ry craves
Dark earth would ope, and hide us in our graves.
Chapman's Byron's Conspiracy. Part I.
Shame ever sticks close to the ribs of honour;
Great men are never sound men after it.
It leaves some ache or other in their names still,
Which their posterity feels at ev'ry weather.
Middleton's Mayor of Quinborough.
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again; And salt too little, which may season give
To her foul tainted flesh!
Shaks. Much ado about Nothing.
Such an act,
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty:
Calls virtue, hypocrite: takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And sets a blister there: makes marriage vows
As false as dicer's oaths; O such a deed,
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very soul; and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words!
This was your husband-Look you now, what | Thou tremblest lest I curse thee, tremble not
Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear,
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moor? ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it love: for, at your age,
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment
Would step from this to this.
Shaks. Hamlet.
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,
Ears without hand or eyes, smelling sans all,'
Or but a sickly part of one true sense
Could not so mope.
Shaks. Hamlet.
Had she not fallen thus, oh! ten thousand worlds
Could ne'er have balanc'd her; for heaven is in
her,
And joys which I must never dream of more.
Lee's Cæsar Borgia.
A foe, but not a mistress, and a friend:
Treason is there in its most horrid shape,
Where trust is greatest! and the soul resign'd,
Is stabb'd by her own guards.
Though thou hast made me, woman, very wretched, but I will not cures
Thou, thou hast made me—
Hear the last prayer of Bertram's broken heart,
That heart which thou hast broken, not his foes!-
Of thy rank wishes the full scope be on thee
May pomp and pride shout in thine adder'd path,
Till thou shalt feel and sicken at their hollowness—
May he thou'st wed, be kind and generous to thee
Till thy wrung heart, stabb'd by his noble fondness,
Writhe in detesting consciousness of falsehood-
May thy babe's smile speak daggers to tha
mother
Who cannot love the father of her child,
And in the bright blaze of the festal hall,
When vassals kneel, and kindred smile around
thee,
May ruin'd Bertram's pledge hiss in thine ear-
Joy to the proud dame of St. Aldobrand-
While his cold corse doth bleach beneath her
towers.
Maturin's Bertram.
A despot's vengeance, a false country's curses,
The spurn of menials whom this man hath fed-
In my heart's steeled pride I shook them off,
As the bay'd lion from his hurtless hide
Shakes his pursuers' darts-across their path-
Dryden's All for Love. One dart alone took aim—thy hand did barb it.
Fatally fair they are, and in their smiles
The graces, little loves, and young desires inhabit;
But all that gaze upon 'em are undone;
Who robs me of my wealth,
May one day have ability, or will
To yield the full repayment- but the villain
That doth invade a husband's right in bed,
Is murd'rer of his peace, and makes a breach
In his life's after-quiet, that the grief
Of penitence itself cannot repair.
Hawkins's Cymbeline.
In want, and war, and peril,
Things that would thrill the hearer's blood to tell of,
My heart grew human when I thought of thee
Thou must live amid a hissing world,
A thing that mothers warn their daughters from,
A thing the menials that do tend thee scorn,
Whom, when the good do name, they tell their
And when the wicked think of they do triumph:
beads,
Canst thou encounter this?
Imogine would have shuddered for my danger-Yet do not my folly reprove :
Imogine would have bound my leechless wounds- She was fair-and my passion begun;
Imogine would have sought my nameless corse-She smil'd-and I could not but love;
And known it well-and she was wedded-
She is faithless-and I am undone.
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