When gods had fram'd the sweets of woman's | Jealousy, that doats but dooms, and murders, yet
And lockt men's looks within her golden hair,
That Phoebus blush'd to see her matchless grace,
And heavenly gods on earth did make repair,
To 'quip fair Venus' overweening pride,
Love's happy thoughts to jealousy were tied.
Then grew a wrinkle on fair Venus' brow,
The amber sweet of love is turn'd to gall;
Gloomy was heaven; bright Phœbus did avow
He would be coy, and would not love at all;
Swearing no greater mischief could be wrought,
Than love united to a jealous thought.
Thou ugliest fiend of hell! thy healthful venom
Preys on my vitals, turns the deadly hue
Of my fresh cheek to haggard sallowness,
And drinks my spirits up!
Hannah More's David and Goliah.
That anxious torture may I never feel,
Sprague's Shakspeare Ode.
To tell the truth,-(you'll not betray?)
I hate to see a jealous woman;
As if e'en Beauty's faintest ray
Should fall upon a heart that's human,
Without awaking grateful love
To Beauty's Author thron'd above!
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it.
Shaks. Love's Labour Lost.
Laugh not too much; the witty man laughs least:
For wit is news only to ignorance:
Less at thine own things laugh; lest in the jest
Thy person share, and the conceit advance.
Make not thy sport abuses: for the fly
Which, doubtful, watches o'er a wandering heart. That feeds on dung, is coloured thereby.
O who that bitter torment can reveal,
Or tell the pining anguish of that smart!
In those affections may I ne'er have part,
Which easily transferr'd can learn to rove:
No, dearest Cupid! when I feel thy dart,
For thy sweet Psyche's sake may no false love,
The tenderness I prize lightly from me rove!
Mrs. Tighe's Psyche.
Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it,
For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
Byron.
Her maids were old, and if she took a new one,
You might be sure she was a perfect fright:
She did this during even her husband's life —
I recommend as much to every wife.
Aias! for he who loves too oft may be
Like one who hath a precious treasure seal'd,
Whereto another hath obtain'd the key:
And he, poor soul! who there his all conceal'd,
Lives blindly on, nor knows that mite by mite
It dwindleth from his grasp; or if a thought
That something hath been lost his mind affright,
He puts it by as evil fancy wrought.
Yet will there sometimes come a ghostly dread,
From which the soul recoils; but he will sleep-
Ay, sleep-and when he wakes, all, all is fled.
Mrs. E. Oakes Smith.
Ah no! my love knows no vain jealousy;
The rose that blooms and lives but in the sun,
Asks not what other flowers he shines upon,
If he but shine on her.
Pick from thy mirth, like stones out of the ground,
Profaneness, filthiness, abusiveness:
These are the scum with which coarse wits
abound:
The fine may spare this well, yet not go less.
All things are big with jest: nothing that's plain,
But may be witty, if thou hast the vein.
Rare compound of oddity, frolic and fun,
To relish a joke, and rejoice in a pun!
He cannot try to speak with gravity,
But one perceives he wags an idle tongue;
He cannot try to look demure, but spite
Of all he does, he shows a laughter's cheek;
He cannot e'en essay to walk sedate,
But in his very gait one sees a jest,
That's ready to break out in spite of all
His seeming.
Joys are not joys, that always stay;
And constant pleasures don't delight, but cloy.
Alex. Brome.
Indeed true gladness doth not always speak:
Joy, bred and born but in the tongue, is weak.
Jonson on the Coronation.
Swell, swell, my joys; and faint not to declare
Yourselves as ample, as your causes are.
Jonson's Sejanus.
True joy is only hope put out of fear;
And honour hideth error ev'ry where.
Lord Brooke's Alaham.
My joys, like men in crowds, press out so fast;
They stop by their own numbers, and their haste.
Sir Robert Howard's Vestal Virgin.
Wonder and joy so fast together flow,
Their haste to pass, has made their passage slow;
Like struggling waters in a vessel pent,
Whose crowding drops choke up the narrow vent.
Sir Robert Howard's Indian Queen.
Wise heaven doth see it as fit
In all our joys to give us some alloys,
As in our sorrows comforts: when our sails
Are fill'd with happiest winds, then we most need
Some heaviness to ballast us.
Fountain's Rewards of Virtue.
There is no state, in which the bounteous Gods
Have not plac'd joy, if men would seek it out.
Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes!
Milton's Paradise Lost.
There's not a slave, a shackled slave of mine,
But should have smil'd that hour thro' all his care,
And shook his chains in transport and rude har.
Congreve's Mourning Bride. Are plac'd in trifles, fashions, follies, toys.
I cannot speak, tears so obstruct my words
And choke me with unutterable joy.
Otway's Caius Marius.
Were
my whole life to come one heap of troubles,
The pleasure of this moment would suffice,
And sweeten all my griefs with its remembrance.
Lee's Mithridates.
A springing joy,
A pleasure, which no language can express,
An ecstasy, that mothers only feel,
Plays round my heart, and brightens up my sorrow,
Like gleams of sunshine in a low'ring sky.
A. Philips's Distrest Mother.
Well, there is yet one day of life before me,
And, whatsoe'er betide, I will enjoy it.
Joanna Baillie's Basil.
And a fierce instinct, even in common souls,
To bear up manhood with a stormy joy,
When red swords meet in lightning.
But what are past or future joys?
The present is our own!
And he is wise who best employs
The passing hour alone.
Mrs. Hemans's Siege of Valencia.
Joy kneels, at morning's rosy prime,
In worship to the rising sun.
Heber's Translations of Pindur.
Joy loves to cull the summer flower,
And wreathe it round his happy brow.
Joy for the present moment! Joy to-day!
Why look we to the morrow?
Mingle me bitters to drive cares away;
Nothing on earth can be for ever gay,
And free from sorrow.
Her world was ever joyous
She thought of grief and pain As giants in the olden time That ne'er would come again.
Fly, judges, fly; corruption's in your court;
The judge of truth hath made your judgment short:
Look so to judge, that at the latter day
Ye be not judg'd with those that wend astray;
Who passeth judgment for his private gain,
Epes Sargent. He well may judge, he is adjudg'd to pain.
T. Lodge and R. Green's Looking-Glass.
It well becomes that judge to nod at crimes,
That does commit greater himself, and lives.
Tourneur's Revenger's Tragedy.
Mrs. Hale's Alice Ray. I was born for rejoicing; a summer child" truly: And kindred I claim with each wild joyous thing; The light frolic breeze-or the streamlet unruly— Or a cloud at its play-or a bird on the wing.
What can innocence hope for,
When such as sit her judges are corrupted?
Massinger's Maid of Honour.
With an equal scale
Mrs. Ellet's Poems. He weighs th' offences betwixt man and man;
He is not sooth'd with adulation,
Nor mov'd with tears, to wrest the course of justice
Into an unjust current, t' oppress the innocent;
Nor does he make the laws
Punish the man, but in the man the cause.
Swetnam-the Woman Hater.
"Tis a maxim in our politics,
A judge destroys a mighty practiser:
When they grow rich and lazy, they are ripe
For honour.
Shirley's Honoria and Mammen.
Nor envies, when a gipsy you commit,
And shake the clumsy bench with country wit;
When you the dullest of dull things have said,
And then ask pardon for the jest you made.
Young's Love of Fame.
When judges a campaigning go,
And on their benches look so big,
What gives them consequence, I trow,
Is nothing but a bushel wig.
Dr. Wolcot's Peter Pinder.
A wise judge by the craft of the law was never seduced from its purpose.
JUDGMENT.
I see, men's judgments are
A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward
Do draw the inward quality after them,
Shaks. Antony and Cleopatra.
Chapman and Shirley's Admiral of France. O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
Unworthy of his place, that lets his censure
Foat in the waves of an imagin'd favour:
This shipwrecks in the haven; and but wounds
Their conscience, that smooth the soon ebb'd hu-
Chapman and Shirley's Admiral of France.
And men have lost their reason.
Shaks. Julius Casar I charge you by the law, Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, Proceed to judgment.
Shaks. Merchant of Venice. Men's judgments sway on that side fortune leans, Chapman's Widow's Tears.
If judgment could in solemn dullness lie,
Which weaker rulers wear for gravity,
Then those must needs transcendent judgments
have,
That would instruct wise nature to be grave.
Sir W. Davenant.
His be the praise, who, looking down in scorn
On the false judgment of the partial herd,
Consults his own clear heart, and nobly dares
To be, not to be thought, an honest man.
Cumberland's Philemon.
Let none direct thee what to do or say,
Till thee thy judgment of the matter sway;
Let not the pleasing many thee delight,
First judge, if those whom thou dost please, judge right.
Judgment is but a curious pair of scales,
Nought is on earth morc sacred or divine, That gods and men do equally adore
That turns with th' hundredth part of true or false, Than this same virtue, that doth right define;
And still the more 't is us'd is wont 't abate
The subtleness and niceness of its weight,
Until 't is false, and will not rise nor fall
fake those that are less artificial;
And therefore students, in their ways of judging
Are fain to swallow many a senseless gudgeon,
And by their understanding lose
Its active faculty with too much use;
For reason, when too curiously 't is spun,
Is but the next of all remov'd from none.
Man's rich with little, were his judgment true;
Nature is frugal, and her wants are few;
Those few wants, answer'd, bring sincere delights;
But fools create themselves new appetites:
Fancy, and pride, seek things at vast expense,
Which relish not to reason, nor to sense.
When surfeit, or unthankfulness, destroys,
In nature's narrow sphere, our solid joys,
In fancy's airy land of noise and show,
Where nought but dreams, no real pleasures grow;
Like cats in air-pumps, to subsist we strive
On joys too thin to keep the soul alive.
For th' heavens themselves, whence mortal men
Right in their wrongs, are rul'd by righteous lore
To his inferior gods; and evermore
Of highest Jove, who doth true justice deal
Therewith contains his heavenly commonweal:
The skill whereof to princes' hearts he doth reveal.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice:
And oft 't is seen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law: but 't is not so above:
There is no shuffling, there the action lies
In its true nature; and we ourselves compell'd,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence.
Plate sin with gold, And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks: Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it. Shaks. King Lear.
To vouch this, is no proof;
Without more certain and more overt test,
Than these thin habits, and poor likelihoods
Of modern seeming, do prefer against him.
Shaks. Othello
If you deny me, fic upon your law,
There is no force in the decrees of Venice:
I stand for judgment: answer, shall I have it!
Shaks. Merchant of Venice
What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted
Thrice is he arm'd who hath his quarrel just,
And he but naked, though Lok'd up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
Shaks. Henry VI
If but one virtue did adorn a king,
It would be justice; many great defeats
Are veil'd thereby-whereas each virtuous thing
In one who is not just, the world suspects.
Earl of Sterline's Darius,
Justice, when equal scales she holds, is blind
Nor cruelty, nor mercy, change her mind:
When some escape for that which others die,
Mercy to those, to these is cruelty:
A fine and slender net the spider weaves
Which little and slight animals receives;
And if she catch a summer bee or fly,
They with a piteous groan and murmur die;
But if a wasp or hornet she entrap,
They tear her cords, like Sampson, and escape:
So like a fly, the poor offender dies;
But like the wasp the rich escapes, and flies.
Denham
Justice must be from violence exempt;
But fraud's her only object of contempt:
Fraud in the fox, force in the lion dwells;
Angelo.—I show it most of all, when I show But justice both from human hearts expels;
But he's the greatest monster, without doubt, Who is a wolf within, a sheep without.
Justice gives sentence many times, On one man for another's crimes.
Sir, I desire you, do me right and justice;
And to bestow your pity on me: for
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger,
Born not of your dominions; having here
No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance
Of equal friendship and proceeding.
The gods Grow angry with your patience: 'Tis their care, And must be yours, that guilty men escape not: As crimes do grow, justice should rouse itself. Jonson's Catiline.
Just men are only free, the rest are slaves.
Chapman's Cæsar and Pompey.
Justice, like lightning, ever should appear
To few men's ruin, but to all men's fear.
Swetman- the Woman Hater.
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