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an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full midday beam.

Areopagitica. Though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play upon the earth, so Truth be in the field, we do in. gloriously, by licensing and prohibiting, to misdoubt her strength. Let her and Falsehood grapple: who ever knew Truth put to the worse in a free and open encounter ? 1

Ibid.

Tetrachorron.

Men of most renowned virtue have sometimes by transgressing most truly kept the law.

By this time, like one who had set out on his way by night, and travelled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history now arrives on the confines, where daylight and truth meet us with a clear dawn, representing to our view, though at a far distance, true colours

The History of England. Book i. Such bickerings to recount, met often in these our writers, what more worth is it than to chronicle the wars of kites or crows flocking and fighting in the air ?

Book iv.

and shapes.

EDWARD HYDE CLARENDON. 1608-1674.

He [Hampden] had a head to contrive, a tongue to persuade, and a hand to execute any mischief.?

History of the Rebellion. Vol. iii. Book vii. $ 84.

? Error of opinion may be tolerated where reason is left free to combat it. - JEFFERSON : Inaugural Address.

? In every deed of mischief he had a heart to resolve, a head to contrive, and a hand to execute. — GIBBON : Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, chap. xlviii.

Heart to conceive, the understanding to direct, or the hand to execute. – From Junius, letter xxxvü. Feb. 14, 1770.

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Her feet beneath her petticoat
Like little mice stole in and out,

As if they feared the light;
But oh, she dances such a way!
No sun upon an Easter-day
Is half so fine a sight.

Ballad upon a Wedding
Her lips were red, and one was thin;
Compared with that was next her chin,
Some bee had stung it newly.

Ibid.
Why so pale and wan, fond lover?

Prithee, why so pale ?
Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail ?
Prithee, why so pale?

Song.

'T is expectation makes a blessing dear;
Heaven were not heaven if we knew what it were.

Against Fruition.
She is pretty to walk with,
And witty to talk with,
And pleasant, too, to think on.

Brennoralt. Act ii. Her face is like the milky way i' the sky, A meeting of gentle lights without a name. But as when an authentic watch is shown, Each man winds up and rectifies his own, So in our very judgments.2

Aglaura. Epilogue. The prince of darkness is a gentleman.8 The Goblins.

Act iii.

none

1 See Herrick, page 202.

3 'T is with our judgments as our watches,
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.

POPE : Essay on Criticism, part i. line 9. 8 See Shakespeare, page 147.

Nick of time.

The Goblins

"High characters," cries one, and he would see Things that ne'er were, nor are, nor e’er will be."

The Goblins. Epilogue.

MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 1612-1650.

He either fears his fate too much,

Or his deserts are small,
That dares not put it to the touch
To gain or lose it all.”

My Dear and only Love
I'll make thee glorious by my pen,
And famous by my sword.

ibid.

SIR JOHN DENHAM. 1615-1668.

Though with those streams he no resemblance hold,
Whose foam is amber and their gravel gold;
His genuine and less guilty wealth t'explore,
Search not his bottom, but survey his shore.

Cooper's Hill. Line 165
Oh, could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme!
Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;
Strong without rage; without o’erflowing, full. Line 189.

? Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see,
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.

POPE: Essay on Criticism, part ii, line 53.
There's no such thing in Nature, and you'll draw
A faultless monster which the world ne'er saw.

SHEFFIELD: Essay on Poetry..
That puts it not unto the touch
To win or lose it all.

NAPIER: Montrose and the Corenanters,
vol. ii. p.

566.
• I'll make thee famous by my pen,
And glorious by my sword.

Scott : Legend of Montrose, chap. au

Actions of the last age are like almanacs of the last year.

The Sophy. A Tragedy. But whither am I strayed ? I need not raise Trophies to thee from other men's dispraise; Nor is thy fame on lesser ruins built; Nor needs thy juster title the foul guilt Of Eastern kings, who, to secure their reign, Must have their brothers, sons, and kindred slain.

On Mr. John Fletcher's Works.

RICHARD CRASHAW.

Circa 1616-1650.

The conscious water saw its God and blushed. Epigram.

Whoe'er she be,
That not impossible she,
That shall command my heart and me.

Wishes to his supposed Mistress.
Where'er she lie,
Locked up from mortal eye,
In shady leaves of destiny.

Ibid. Days that need borrow No part of their good morrow From a fore-spent night of sorrow.

Ibid.

Life that dares send
A challenge to his end,
And when it comes, say, Welcome, friend!

Ibid.

1 Poets are sultans, if they had their will ;
For every author would his brother kill.

ORRERY : Prologues (according to Johnson).
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne.

Pore: Prologue to the Satires, line 197. 2 Nympha pudica Deum vidit, et erubuit (The modest Nymph saw the god, and blushed). – Epigrammationa Sacra. Aquæ in vinum verse, p. 299.

Sydneian showers
Of sweet discourse, whose powers
Can crown old Winter's head with flowers.

Wishes to his supposed Mistress.
A happy soul, that all the way
To heaven hath a summer's day.

In Praise of Lessius's Rule of Health, The modest front of this small floor, Believe

me, reader, can say more Than many a braver marble can, "Here lies a truly honest man!” Epitaph upon Mr. Ashton

RICHARD LOVELACE. 1618-1658.

Oh, could you view the melody

Of every grace

And music of her face,
You'd drop a tear;

Seeing more harmony

In her bright eye
Than now you
hear.

Orpheus to Beasts.
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Lov'd I not honour more.

To Lucasta, on going to the Wars.
When flowing cups pass swiftly round
With no allaying Thames.”

To Althea from Prison, ii.
Fishes that tipple in the deep,
Know no such liberty.

Ibid.

i See Browne, page 218.

The mind, the music breathing from her face. – BYRON: Bride of Aby

dos, canto i. stanza 6.

2 See Shakespeare, page 103.

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