Grief. Spenser.

NEXT him went Griefe and Fury, matcht yfere;
Griefe all in sable sorrowfully clad,
Downe hanging his dull head with heavy chere,
Yet inly being more than seeming sad;
A paire of pincers in his hand he had,
With which he pinched many people to the Hart,
That from thenceforth a wretched life they ladd
In wilfull languor and consuming smart,

Dying each day with inward wounds of Dolour's dart.
Grief. Shakspeare.

MOST subject is the fattest soil to weeds;
And he, the noble Image of my youth,
Is overspread with them therefore my Grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death.
Grief. — Joanna Baillie.

LIKE a pent-up flood, swoln to the height,
He pour'd his Griefs into my breast with Tears,
Such as the manliest men in their cross'd lives
Are sometimes forced to shed.

Grief. Shakspeare.

My Grief lies all within,

And these external manners of laments
Are merely shadows to the unseen Grief,
That swells with silence in the tortured Sou
Grief. — Spenser.

WITH that adowne, out of her christall eyne,
Few trickling Teares she softly forth let fall,
That like two orient perles did purely shyne
Upon her snowy Cheeke; and therewithall
She sighed soft, that none so bestiall
Nor salvage hart, but ruth of her sad plight
Would make to melt, or pitteously appall.
Grief.-Shakspeare.

OH, break, my Heart!—poor bankrupt, break at once!
To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty!
Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here;
And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy Bier.

Grief. — Shakspeare.

No, I'll not weep:

I have full cause of weeping; but this Heart
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,
Ere I'll weep:-O Fool, I shall go mad!

Nrief.- La Rochefoucauld.

THERE are divers sorts of hypocrisy in Grief. In one, under pretext of lamenting the loss of a person who is dear to us, we lament ourselves, we lament the diminution of our Advantages, of our Pleasures, of our Consideration. We regret the good opinion that was entertained of us. Thus the Dead get the credit of tears which are only shed for the Living. I call this a species of hypocrisy, because in this sort of Grief we deceive ourselves. There is yet another species of Tears which have very petty sources, which flow easily, and as easily are dried: we weep to acquire the reputation of a tender Heart; we weep to be pitied; we weep to be wept over; in fine, we weep to avoid the shame of not weeping.

Grief. — Martial.

SHE grieves sincerely who grieves when alone.

Grief. Shakspeare.
LIKE the Lily,

That once was mistress of the field, and flourished,
I'll hang my Head, and perish.

Grief.- Pliny.

HOWEVER, I by no means wish to become less susceptible of

I

Tenderness. I know these kind of misfortunes would be estimated by other persons only as common losses, and from such Sensations they would conceive themselves great and wise men. shall not determine either their Greatness or their Wisdom; but I am certain they have no Humanity. It is the part of a man to be affected with Grief, to feel Sorrow, at the same time that he is to resist it, and to admit of Comfort.

Grief. Shakspeare.

Ан, cut my lace asunder!

That my pent Heart may have some scope to beat,
Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news.

Grief. Shakspeare.

SPIRITS of Peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone?
And leave me here in Wretchedness behind ye?
Grief. Shakspeare.

WHEN remedies are past, the Griefs are ended,

By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.

To mourn a Mischief that is past and gone,

Is the next way to draw new Mischief on.

What cannot be preserved when Fortune takes,

Patience her injury a mockery makes.

The robb'd, that smiles, steals something from the Thief;
He robs himself, that spends a bootless Grief.

Grief. Byron.

HIDE thy Tears—

I do not bid thee not to shed them-'twere
Easier to stop Euphrates at its source
Than one tear of a true and tender Heart-
But let me not behold them; they unman me.
Grief. Shakspeare.

'TIS double Death to drown in ken of shore:

He ten times pines, that pines beholding food:
To see the salve, doth make the Wound ache more;
Great Grief grieves most at that would do it good:
Deep Woes roll forward like a gentle flood,
Who, being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'erflows;
Grief dallied with, nor law nor limits knows.
Grief. Shakspeare.

MEN

Can counsel, and speak comfort to that Grief,
Which they themselves not feel; but tasting it,
Their counsel turns to Passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to Rage,
Fetter strong Madness in a silken thread,
Charm Ache with air, and Agony with words:
No, no: 'tis all men's office to speak Patience
To those that wring under the load of Sorrow;
But no man's virtue, nor Sufficiency,

To be so moral, when he shall endure
The like himself.

Grovellers. — Persius.

O SOULS, in whom no heavenly Fire is found,
Fat Minds, and ever grovelling on the ground!

Grumbling.

Graves.

EVERY one must see daily instances of people who complain from a mere Habit of Complaining.

Grumbling. — Greville.

THERE is an unfortunate disposition in a man to attend much more to the Faults of his companions which offend him, than to their Perfections which please him.

Guilt. — Milton.

EARTH felt the wound, and Nature from her seat
Sighing through all her works gave signs of Wo.
Habit. Colton.

IT is almost as difficult to make a man unlearn his Errors as his
Knowledge.

Habit. Seneca.

TO things which you bear with Impatience you should accustom yourself, and, by Habit, you will bear them well.

Habit. Tucker.

THERE are Habits contracted by bad example, or bad management, before we have Judgment to discern their approaches, or because the eye of Reason is laid asleep, or has not compass of view sufficient to look around on every quarter.

Habit. Shakspeare.

KEEP a Gamester from the dice, and a good Student from his book, and it is wonderful.

Habit. Horace.

A NEW Cask will long preserve the Tincture of the liquor with which it is first impregnated.

Habit. Shakspeare.

THAT monster, Custom, who all sense doth eat
Of Habit's devil, is angel yet in this;

That to the use of Actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock, or livery,
That aptly is put on; Refrain to-night:
And that shall lend a kind of easiness

To the next Abstinence: the next more easy:
For Use almost can change the stamp of nature,
And either curb the Devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency.

Happiness. — From the French.

THE Happiness of the human race in this world does not consist in our being devoid of Passions, but in our learning to command them.

Happiness. Addison.

TRUE Happiness is of a retired nature, and an enemy to pomp and noise; it arises, in the first place, from the enjoyment of one's self and in the next, from the Friendship and Conversation of a few select Companions: false Happiness loves to be in a crowd, and to draw the eyes of the world upon her. She does not receive any Satisfaction from the applauses which she gives herself, but from the admiration which she raises in others.

Happiness. — Shakspeare.

THEY are as sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing: It is no mean Happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean: Superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but Competency lives longer.

Happiness. Goldsmith.

EVERY mind seems capable of entertaining a certain quantity of Happiness, which no institutions can increase, no circumstances alter, and entirely independent on Fortune. Let any man compare his present Fortune with the past, and he will probably find himself, upon the whole, neither better nor worse than formerly.

Happiness. — Steele.

INDOLENCE of body and mind, when we aim at no more, is very frequently enjoyed; but the very inquiry after Happiness has something restless in it, which a man who lives in a series of temperate meals, friendly conversations, and easy slumbers, gives himself no trouble about it. While men of Refinement are talking of Tranquillity, he possesses it.

Happiness. — Thomson.

EVEN not all these, in one rich lot combined,
Can make the happy man, without the mind;
Where Judgment sits clear-sighted, and surveys
The Chain of Reason with unerring gaze;
Where Fancy lives, and to the brightening eyes,
His fairer scenes, and bolder figures rise;
Where social Love exerts her soft command,
And plays the Passions with a tender hand,
Whence every Virtue flows, in rival strife,
And all the moral Harmony of life.

Happiness.

Shakspeare.

THE bitter past, more welcome is the Sweet.

Happiness. —Pope.

ORDER is heaven's first law; and this confest,
Some are, and must be, greater than the rest,
More rich, more wise; but who infers from hence
That such are happier, shocks all common sense.
Heaven to mankind impartial we confess,

If all are equal in their Happiness:
But mutual wants this Happiness increase
All Nature's difference keeps all Nature's peace.
Condition, circumstance, is not the thing;
Bliss is the same in subject or in King,
In who obtain defence, or who defend,
In him who is, or him who finds a friend:

Heaven breathes through every member of the whole.
One common blessing, as one common Soul.