A narrow compass! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair;
Give me but what this riband bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round.

For all we know

Of what the blessed do above

Is, that they sing, and that they love.

Poets that lasting marble seek
Must come in Latin or in Greek.

On a Girdle

While I listen to thy Voice.

Of English Verse.

Under the tropic is our language spoke,
And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.

Go, lovely rose !

Upon the Death of the Lord Protector.

Tell her that wastes her time and me

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse,
And every conqueror creates a muse.

Go, Lovely Rose.

Ibid.

Panegyric on Cromwell.

Said, when he saw the fashion of the shaft,
"With our own feathers, not by others' hands,
Are we now smitten."

ESCHYLUS: Fragm. 123 (Plumptre's Translation).

So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain,

No more through rolling clouds to soar again,

View'd his own feather on the fatal dart,

And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart.

BYRON English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, line 826

Like a young eagle, who has lent his plume

To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom,
See their own feathers pluck'd to wing the dart
Which rank corruption destines for their heart.

THOMAS MOORE: Corruption

In such green palaces the first kings reign'd,
Slept in their shades, and angels entertain'd;
With such old counsellors they did advise,
And by frequenting sacred groves grew wise.

And keeps the palace of the soul.1

On St. James's Park,

Poets lose half the praise they should have got,
Could it be known what they discreetly blot.

Of Tea.

Upon Roscommon's Translation of Horace, De Arte Poetica.

Could we forbear dispute and practise love,

We should agree as angels do above. Divine Love. Canto iii.

The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd,

Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made.' Stronger by weakness, wiser men become

As they draw near to their eternal home:

Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view
That stand upon the threshold of the new.

On the Divine Poems.

THOMAS FULLER. 1608-1661.

Drawing near her death, she sent most pious thoughts as harbingers to heaven; and her soul saw a glimpse of happiness through the chinks of her sickness-broken body. Life of Monica.

He was one of a lean body and visage, as if his eager soul, biting for anger at the clog of his body, desired to fret a passage through it.3 Life of the Duke of Alva.

1 The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.- BYRON: Childe Harold,

canto ii, stanza 6.

2 See Daniel, page 39.

To vanish in the chinks that Time has made.

ROGERS: Paestum.

3 A fiery soul, which, working out its way,

Fretted the pygmy-body to decay,

And o'er-inform'd the tenement of clay.

DRYDEN: Absalom and Achitophel, part i, line 156.

She commandeth her husband, in any equal matter, by constant obeying him. Holy and Profane State. The Good Wife. He knows little who will tell his wife all he knows. The Good Husband.

One that will not plead that cause wherein his tongue must be confuted by his conscience.

The Good Advocate.

A little skill in antiquity inclines a man to Popery; but depth in that study brings him about again to our religion.1 The True Church Antiquary.

But our captain counts the image of God- nevertheless his image cut in ebony as if done in ivory, and in the blackest Moors he sees the representation of the King of Heaven. The Good Sea-Captain.

To smell to a turf of fresh earth is wholesome for the body; no less are thoughts of mortality cordial to the soul.

The lion is not so fierce as painted."

The Virtuous Lady.

Of Preferment.

Their heads sometimes so little that there is no room for wit; sometimes so long that there is no wit for so much room. Of Natural Fools.

The Pyramids themselves, doting with age, have forgotten the names of their founders.

Of Tombs.

Learning hath gained most by those books by which the printers have lost.

Of Books.

They that marry ancient people, merely in expectation to bury them, hang themselves in hope that one will come and cut the halter.

Of Marriage.

Fame sometimes hath created something of nothing.

Fame.

Often the cockloft is empty in those whom Nature hath built many stories high." Andronicus. Sect. vi. Par. 18, 1.

1 See Bacon, p. 166. 2 See Herbert, p. 205.

3 See Bacon, p. 170.

JOHN MILTON. 1608-1674.

Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste

Brought death into the world, and all our woe.

Paradise Lost. Book i. Line 1.

Or if Sion hill

Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook, that flow'd

Where peace

And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all.

What though the field be lost?
All is not lost; th' unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield.

To be weak is miserable,

Line 65.

Line 105.

Doing or suffering.

Line 157.

And out of good still to find means of evil.

Line 165.

Farewell happy fields,

Where joy forever dwells: hail, horrors!

Line 249.

1 But vindicate the ways of God to man. - POPE: Essay on Man, epistle

1. line 16.

A mind not to be chang'd by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.1

Paradise Lost. Book i. Line 253.

Here we may reign secure; and in my choice
To reign is worth ambition, though in hell:
Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.
Heard so oft

In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge
Of battle.

His spear, to equal which the tallest pine
Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast
Of some great ammiral were but a wand,
He walk'd with to support uneasy steps

Line 261.

Line 275.

Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons
Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.

Line 500.

Th' imperial ensign, which full high advanc'd
Shone like a meteor, streaming to the wind.2
Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds:
At which the universal host up sent
A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond
Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night.

1 See Book iv. line 75.

Line 536.

Line 540.

2 Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air. - GRAY: The Bard, i. 2, line 6.