CHASTITY CHEERFULNESS.

Let but the rich man do his part,
And whatsoe'er the issue be,
To those who ask, his answering heart
Will gain and grow in sympathy.

Then gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman,

Thou, my love, art sweeter far than balmy
Incense in the purple smoke; pure and
Unspotted as the cleanly ermine, erc
The hunter sullies her with his pursuit ;

R. M. Milnes. Soft as her skin; chaste as th' Arabian bird
That wants a sex to woo, or as the dead,
That are divorc'd from warmth, from objects,
And from thought.

Though both may gang a kennie wrang,

To step aside is human.

Cast not the clouded gem away,

Quench not the dim but living ray

My brother man, beware!

Burns.

With that deep voice, which from the skies,
Forbade the Patriarch's sacrifice,
God's angel cries, Forbear!

Still to a stricken brother true,

Whatever clime hath nurtur'd him; He stoop'd to heal the wounded Jew, The worshipper of Gerizim.

Sir W. Davenant's Platonic Lovers.
So dear to heav'n is saintly chastity,
That when a soul is found sincerely so,
A thousand liv'ry'd angels lackey her,
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt.
Milton's Comus.

Oh! she is colder than the mountain's snow.
To such a subtile purity she's wrought,
Whittier. She's pray'd and fasted to a walking thought:
She's an enchanted feast, most fair to sight,
And starves the appetite she does invite;
Flies from the touch of sense, and if you dare
To name but love she vanishes to air.

Whittier.

Crown's Destruction of Jerusalem.
In thy fair brow there's such a legend writ
Of chastity, as blinds the adulterous eye:
Not the mountain ice,

Congeal'd to crystals, is so frosty chaste,
As thy victorious soul, which conquers man,
And man's proud tyrant-passion.

Dryden's Albion and Albanus.

When lovely woman stoops to folly,

And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy?
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,

And hide her shame from every eye,
And give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom is-to die.

Goldsmith.

Beneath the cares of earth she does not bow,
Though she hath ofttimes drain'd its bitter cup;
But ever wanders on with heavenward brow,
And eyes whose lovely orbs are lifted up!

Mrs. Welby.

CHASTITY.

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die;

But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity;
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds.

CHEERFULNESS.

And her against sweet cheerfulness was placed,
Whose eyes like twinkling stars in evening clea
Were deck't with smyles, that all sad humours
chased,

Shakspeare. And darted forth delights, the which her goodly
graced.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.

Chaste as the icicle That's curdled by the frost of purest snow, And har gs on Dian's temple.

Shakspeare.

Cheerful looks make every dish a feast,
And 't is that crowns a welcome.

Massings

Let me play the fool:

At first, the infant,

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

And let my liver rather heat with wine,
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish?

Shaks. Merchant of Venice.
What then remains but well our power to use,
And keep good humour still, whate'er we lose?
And trust me, dear, good humour can prevail,
When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding
fail;

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll;
Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
Pope's Rape of the Lock.
Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play,
Belinda smil'd and all the world was gay.
Pope's Rape of the Lock.
When cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulders flung,
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew.
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung.
Collins's Passions.

Thus without share in coin or land,

But well content to hold
The wealth of nature in my hand,

One flail of virgin gold,—
My love above me like a sun,-

My own bright thoughts my wings,-
Through life I trust to flutter on
As gay as aught that sings.

R. M. Milnes.
Were it not worse than vain to close our eyes
Unto the azure sky and golden light,
Because the tempest cloud doth sometimes rise,
And glorious day must darken into night?
Douglas Jerold's Magazine.

A sweet heart-lifting cheerfulness,
Like spring-time of the year,
Seem'd ever on her steps to wait.

Shaks. As you like it.
Behold, my lords,

Although the print be little, the whole matter
And copy of the father: eye, nose, lip,
The trick of his frown, his forehead; nay, the
valley,

The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek; his
smiles;

The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger.
Shaks. Winter Tale.

The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,
Which, mellowed by the stealing hours of time,
Will well become the seat of majesty,
And make no doubt us happy by his reign

Shaks. Richard III.
Hath he set bounds between their love and me?
I am their mother, who shall bar me from them
Shaks. Richard III

O'tis a parlous boy;

Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable;
He's all the mother's from the top to toe.

Shaks. Richard III

Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face;
These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his :
This little abstract doth contain that large,
Which died in Geffrey: and the hand of time,
Shall draw this brief unto as large a volume.
Shaks. King John

Father Cardinal, I have heard you say,
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven:
If that be true, I shall see my boy again;
For since the birth of Cain, the first male-child,
To him that did but yesterday suspire,
There was not such a gracious creature born.
Shaks. King John.

O Lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair son;
My life, my joy, my soul, my all the world;
My widow's comfort, and my sorrow's care.
Shaks. King John.

The poor wren,

The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
The young ones in her nest against the owl.
Shaks. Macbeth.

Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricots,
Which, like unruly children make their sire
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight.
Shaks. Richard. Il

Children blessings seem, but torments are,
When young our folly, and when old our fear
Otway's Don Carlos.