Friend of my soul this goblet sip, "T will chase that pensive tear; "T is not so sweet as woman's lip, But oh! 'tis more sincere. Like her delusive beam, 'T will steal away the mind: But, like affection's dream, It leaves no sting behind!
Come twine the wreath, thy brows to shade, These flowers were cull'd at noon;
Like woman's love, the rose will fade,
But, ah! not half so soon!
For though the flow'r 's decay'd,
Its fragrance is not o'er;
But once when love's betray'd,
The heart can bloom no more!
Take back the sigh thy lips of art In passion's moment breath'd to me; Yet, no-it must not, will not part, "Tis now the life-breath of my heart, And has become too pure for thee! Take back the kiss, that faithless sigh With all the warmth of truth imprest; Yet, no-the fatal kiss may lie, Upon thy lips its sweets would die, Or bloom to make a rival blest!
Take back the vows that, night and day, My heart receiv'd, I thought, from thine; Yet, ro- allow them still to stay, 'They might some other heart betray, As sweetly as they've ruin'd mine!
Go, false to heaven and me! Your very tears are treachery.
Who that feels what love is here, All its falsehoods- all its pain, Would, for ev'n Elysium's sphere, Risk the fatal dream again? Who, that 'midst a desert's heat Would not rather die than meet Sees the waters fade away,
Streams again as false as they?
Though my many faults defac'd me, Could no other arm be found,
Than the one which once embrac'd me, To inflict a cureless wound.
Byron's Fare thee well Thou art fickle as the sea, thou art wandering as
And the restless, ever-mounting flame is not more hard to bind.
If the tears I shed were tongues, yet all too few would be
To tell of all the treachery that thou hast shown
I hate ingratitude more in a man
Than lying, vainness, babbling drunkenness, Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption Inhabits our frail blood.
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here.
Shaks. Twelfth Night. Create her child of spleen, that it may live,
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand For lifting food to 't.
We'll no more meet, no more see one another: But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter, Or rather, a disease that 's in my flesh, Which I must needs call mine; thou art a boil, A plague-sore, or imbossed carbuncle, In my corrupted blood: but I'll not chide thee. Shaks. Lear.
This was the most unkindest cut of all: For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms, Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statue, Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell. Shaks. Julius Cæsar.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude.
And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her! Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth; With cadent tears fret channels in her checks. Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits, To laughter and contempt; that she may feel How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is, To have a thankless child.
Not a man would speak- Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself For him, poor soul.-The proudest of you all Have been beholden to him in his life: Yet none of you would once plead for his life. Shaks. Richard III. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption; Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man; Snakes in my heart-blood warm'd that sting my
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! Shaks. King Richard II.
Pr'ythee, lead me in:
There take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny; 'tis the king's; my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all
I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal
Shaks. As you like it. I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age Why this Have left me naked to mine enemies!
Is the world's soul; and just of the same piece Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him His friend, that dips in the same dish? for, in My knowing, Timon hath been this lord's father, And kept his credit with his purse; Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money Has paid his men their wages; he ne'er drinks, But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; And yet (O see the monstrousness of man When he looks out in an ungrateful shape) He does deny him.
Shaks. Timon of Athens.
I am rapt, and cannot
Cover the monstrous bulk of this ingratitude
With any size of words!
Shaks. Timon of Athens. I have kept back their foes, While they have told their money, and let out Their coin upon large interest; I myself, Rich only in large hurts:- All those, for this? Is this the balsam, that the usuring senate Pour into captains' wounds.
I served thee fifteen hard campaigns,
They that do pull down churches, and deface The holiest altars, cannot hurt the Godhead. A calm wise man may show as much true valour, Amidst these popular provocations, As can an able captain show security, By his brave conduct through an enemy's country. A wise man never goes the people's way; But as the planets still move contrary To the world's motion; so doth he to opinion: He will examine if those accidents Which common fame calls injuries, happen to him Deservedly or no? Come they deservedly? Brooke's Earl of Warwick. They are no wrongs then; but punishments:
And pitch'd thy standards in these foreign fields; By me thy greatness grew; thy years grew with it; But thy ingratitude out-grew them both.
Dryden's Don Sebastian. The wretch whom gratitude once fails to bind, To truth or honour let him lay no claim; But stand confess'd the brute disguis'd in man. Frowde's Philotas.
Of deeper dye than all the guilty train Of human vices, 't is ingratitude.
As is the lie, or common words of spite, Wise laws thought never worthy of revenge; And 't is the narrowness of human nature, Our poverty and beggary of spirit,
If undeservedly, and he not guilty? The doer of them first should blush-not he. Jonson's New Inn.
The purpose of an injury;-'t is to vex And trouble me: now nothing can do that To him that's truly valiant. He that is affected With the least injury, is less than it.
Jonson's New Inn. For evils which are 'gainst another done, Repentance makes no satisfaction To him that feels the smart.
Wilkins's Miseries of Enforced Marriage.
I have learn'd to endure, I have hugg'd my des
To take exception at these things. He laugh'd With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay;
Пe broke a jest! a third took place of me! How most ridiculous quarrels are all these? Notes of a queasy, and sick stomach, labouring With want of a true injury! the main part Of the wrong, is our vice of taking it!
With broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, Rang'd o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row. Goldsmith's Deserted Village. Where village statesmen talk'd with looks pro- found,
And news much older than their ale went round. Goldsmith's Deserted Village
Shaks. Henry VIII. I humbly thank your highness: And am right glad to catch this good occasion Most thoroughly to be winnow'd where my chaff And corn shall fly asunder: for I know, There's none stands under more calumnious tongues,
Than I myself, poor man.
No strife, nor no sedition in his powers; No motion in his will against his reason; No thought 'gainst thought-
But all parts in him friendly and secure. Fruitful of all best things in all worst seasons, He can with ev'ry wish be in their plenty; When the infectious guilt of one foul crime Destroys the free content of all our time.
Chapman's Byron's Conspiracy. Part I I hope no other hope; who bears a spotless breast, Doth want no comfort else, howe'er distrest. Dauborne's Poor Man's Comfort.
As in a gentle slumber, pass away! But to cut off the knotty thread of life In guilty men, must force stern Atropos To use her sharp knife often.
Shall fall on me, like brittle shafts on armour, That break themselves; or like waves against a rock,
Shaks. Henry VIII. That leave no sign of their ridiculous fury
A thousand blushing apparitions start Into her face; a thousand innocent shames In angel whiteness bear away those blushes; And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire, To burn the errors that these princes hold Against her maiden truth.
Shaks. Much ado about Nothing. We were as twin'd lambs, that did frisk i' the sun, And bleat the one at the other: what we chang'd Was innocence for innocence; we knew not The doctrine of ill-doing, no, nor dream'd That any did.
False accusation blush, and tyranny Tremble at patience.
But foam and splinters: my innocence like these Shall stand triumphant, and your malice serve But for a trumpet to proclaim my conquest; Nor shall you, though you do the worst fate can, Howe'er condemn, affright an honest man.
Massinger and Field's Fatal Dowry. Innocence unmov'd
At a false accusation, doth the more Confirm itself; and guilt is best discover'd By its own fears.
Misfortune may benight the wicked; she Who knows no guilt, can sink beneath no fear. Habbington's Queen of Arragon
'Tis modesty in sin to practise ev'ry Disguise to hide it from the world:
Shaks. Winter's Tale. But creatures free from guilt affect the sun, And hate the dark, because it hides their inno
Not, though the malice of traducing tongues, The open vastness of a tyrant's ear, The senseless rigour of the wrested laws, Or the red eyes of strain'd authority, Should in a point meet all, to take his life; His innocency is armour 'gainst all these. Jonson's Poetaster.
Sir W. Davenant's Cruel Brother Since still my duty did my actions steer, I'll not disguise my innocence by fear; Lest I the saving of my life repent: I'll rather bear, than merit punishment. Earl of Orrery's Mustapnu
I'll rather to a punishment submit, Than to the guilt of what may merit it.
Earl of Orrery's Tryphon. Heaven may awhile correct the virtuous, Yet it will wipe their eyes again, and make Their faces whiter with their tears. Innocence Conceal'd is the stol'n pleasure of the gods, Which never ends in shame, as that of men Doth oftentimes do; but like the sun breaks forth, When it hath gratified another world; And to our unexpecting eyes appears More glorious through its late obscurity.
John Fountain's Rewards of Virtue. So pray'd they innocent, and to their thoughts Firm peace recover'd soon and wonted calm. Milton's Paradise Lost. Only add
Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add faith, Add virtue, patience, temperance, add love, By name to come call'd charity, the soul Of all the rest; then wilt thou not be loath To leave this paradise, but shalt possess A paradise within thee, happier far.
Tell me why the ant, 'Midst summer's plenty, thinks of winter's want, By constant journeys careful to prepare Her stores; and bring home the corny ear; By what instruction does she bite the grain, Lest hid in earth, and taking root again, Milton's Paradise Lost. It might elude the foresight of her care? Distinct in either insects' deed appear The marks of thought, contrivance, hope, and fear. Prior's Soloman.
There is no courage but in innocence; No constancy, but in an honest cause.
Southern's Fate of Capua.
Evil like us they shun, and covet good; Abhor the poison, and receive the food. Like us they love or hate; like us they know To joy the friend, or grapple with the foe. With seeming thought their action they intend; And use the means proportion'd to the end; Then vainly the philosopher avers That reason guides our deeds, and instinct theirs. How can we justly different causes frame, When the effects entirely are the same? Instinct and reason how can we divide? 'Tis the fool's ignorance, and the pedant's pride. Prior's Soloman Say, where full instinct is the unerring guide, What hope or council can they need beside? Reason, however able, cool at best, Cares not for service, or but serves when prest: Stays till we call, and then not often near; But honest instinct comes a volunteer; Sure never to o'ershoot, but just to hit; While still too wide or short is human wit.
The meaner creatures never feel control, By glowing instinct guided to the goal; Each sense is fed, each faculty employ'd, — And all their record is —a life enjoy'd. Mrs. Hale's Constantia
« ÎnapoiContinuă » |