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This crowns his feast with wine and wit,
Who brought him to that mirth and state ? His betters, see, below him sit,
Or hunger hopeless at the gate. Who bade the mud from Dives' wheel To
spurn the rags of Lazarus ? Come, brother, in that dust we 'll kneel,
Confessing Heaven that ruled it thus.
THE play is done, the curtain drops,
Slow falling to the prompter’s bell ; A moment yet the actor stops,
And looks around, to say farewell. It is an irksome word and task ;
And, when he's laughed and said his say, He shows, as he removes the mask,
A face that 's anything but gay. One word, ere yet the evening ends,
Let's close it with a parting rhyme ;
As flits the merry Christmas time ;
That fate erelong shall bid you play ; Good night ! - with honest, gentle hearts
A kindly greeting go alway!
So each shall mourn, in life's advance,
Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed : Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance
And longing passion unfulfilled. Amen! - whatever fate be sent,
Pray God the heart may kindly glow, Although the head with cares be bent,
And whitened with the winter snow.
Come wealth or want, come good or ill,
Let young and old accept their part, And bow before the awful will,
And bear it with an honest heart.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, But in battalions.
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, Hamlet, Activ. Sc. 5.
SHAKESPEARE. Thence to be wrenched with an unlineal hand,
No son of mine succeeding.
Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. i.
And be these juggling fiends no more believed,
That palter with us in a double sense ;
That keep the word of promise to our ear,
Macbeth, Act v. Sc.7.
DR. E. YOUNG.
And my large kingilom for a little grave,
He that is stricken blind cannot forget A little little grave, an obscure grave.
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost. King Richard II., Act iii. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE. Romeo and Juliet, Act i. Sc. I.
0, who can hold a fire in his hand Thrice he assayed, and thrice in spite of scorn Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth.
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite Paradise Lost, Book i.
By bare imagination of a feast? Wolsey. I have touched the highest point of Or wallow naked in December snow, all my greatness,
By thinking on fantastic Summer's heat? And from that full meridian of my glory, 0, no ! the apprehension of the good I haste now to my setting : I shall fall
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse. Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
King Richard II., Act I, Sc. 2.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;
Hath but a losing office ; and his tongue Give him a little earth for charity !
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Remembered knolling a departed friend. King Henry VIII., Act iv. Sc. 2.
King Henry IV., Part II. Ad i. Sc. I. SHAKESPEARE. The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man.
Eating the bitter bread of banishment. I'gin to be a-weary of the sun.
King Richard II., Act iii. Sc. 1.
SHAKESPEARE. Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 5.
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. O God ! O God !
Merchant of Venice, Act i. Sc. 3. How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Lord of himself, — that heritage of woe ! Seem to me all the uses of this world !
Lara, Cant. i.
BYRON Hamlet, Act i. Sc. a.
Lord of thy presence, and no land beside. Man delights not me; no, nor woman neither.
King John, Act i. Sc.f. Ilamlat, Act i. Sc. 2.
0, I could play the woman with mine eyes, THE MEMORY OF SORROWS.
And braggart with my tongue !
Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 3.
And moonstruck madness. The hues of bliss more brightly glow,
Paradise Lost, Book xi.
MILTON. Chastised by sabler tints of woe.
0, let not women's weapons, water-drops, Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vucissitude. T. GRAY.
Stain my man's cheeks. Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
King Lear, Actii. Sc. 4.
SHAKESPEARE. Sorrow calls no time that's gone : Violets plucked, the sweetest rain
The little dogs and all, Makes not fresh nor grow again.
Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark
at me. The Queen of Corinth, Act iii. Sc. 2.
King Lear, Act iii. Sc. 6.
CONSOLATION IN ADVERSITY.
'T is better to be lowly born, Cheered up himself with ends of verse,
And range with humble livers in content, And sayings of philosophers.
Than to be perked up in a glistering grief,
And wear a golden sorrow. Hudibras, Part I. Cant. iii.
King Henry VIII., Act ii. Sc. 3. On Fortune's cap we are not the very button.
Yes, child of suffering, thou may'st well be sure, Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2.
He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor !
Urania, I am not merry ; but I do beguile
0. W. HOLMES. The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.
As if Misfortune made the throne her seat, Othello, Act i. Sc. 1.
And none could be unhappy but the great.
None think the great unhappy, but the great. Verses to his Friend under Affliction. J. POMFRET.
Love of Fame, Satire i.
DR. E. YOUNG. The weariest and most loathèd worldly life,
HOPE IN MISERY.
The wretch condemned with life to part,
Still, still on hope relies ; Measure for Measure, Act iii. Sc. 1.
SHAKESPEARE. And every pang that rends the heart
Bids expectation rise.
The Captivity, Act ii.
The worst is not
So long as we can say, This is the worst.
King Lear, Act iv. Sc. 1.
The miserable have no other medicine,
But only hope.
Measure for Measure, Act iii. Sc. 1.
SHAKESPEARE. T. TUSSER.
Macb. Canst thou not minister to a mind You take my house when you do take the prop
diseased, That doth sustain my house ; you take my life
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, When you do take the means whereby I live.
Raze out the written troubles of the brain, Merchant of Venice, Act iv. Sc. I.
And with some sweet oblivious antidote The loss of wealth is loss of dirt,
Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff, As sages in all times assert ;
Which weighis upon the heart? The happy man's without a shirt.
Therein the patient Be Merry, Friends.
J. HEYWOOD. Must minister to himself.
Macbeth, Ad v. Sc. 3.
BRIEFNESS OF Joys.
What though my winged hours of bliss have been, We have seen better days.
Like angel-visits, few and far between. Timon of Athens, Act iv. Sc. 2.
Pleasures of Hope, Part II.
T. CAMPBELL. My pride fell with my fortunes.
How fading are the joys we dote upon !
Like apparitions seen and gone ; As You Like It, Act i. Sc. 2.
But those which soonest take their flight
Are the most exquisite and strong ;
Like angels' visits, short and bright,
Mortality 's too weak to bear them long. Pilgrim's Progress, Part II.
J. NORRIS. I am not now in fortune's power ;
DESPAIR. He that is down can fall no lower.
I am one, my liege, Hudibras, Part 1. Cant. iii.
Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Their feet through faithless leather met the dirt, Have so incensed, that I am reckless what, And oftener changed their principles than shirt. I do to spite the world. Epistle to Mr. Pope.
E. YOUNG. Macbeth, Act iii. Sc.2.