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HOtt&CItt* —Johnson.
TTERE Malice, Rapine, Accident, conspire,

And now a Rabble rages, and now a Fire)
Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay,
And here the fell Attorney prowls for prey)
Here falling houses thunder on your head,
And here a female Atheist talks you dead.

UOTV&On* — Byron.
A MIGHTY Mass of Brick, and smoke, and shipping,

Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye
Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping

In sight, then lost amidst the forestry
Of masts; a wilderness of Steeples peeping
On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy,
A huge dun Cupola, like a foolscap crown
On a fool's head—and there is London Town!

%%yC%m.—Johnson.
T ONDON! the needy Villain's gen'ral home,
The common sewer of Paris and of Rome;
With eager Thirst, by folly or by fate,
Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted State.

UongebttB—Coiton.

T^ERE the Life of man prolonged, he would become such a proficient in villany, that it would be necessary again to drown or to burn the World. Earth would become a Hell: for future rewards, when put off to a great distance, would cease to encourage, and future punishments to alarm.

Hoofttnfl uptoarK — Coiton.

ic OUR thoughts/' says an eloquent divine, " like the waters of the sea, when exhaled toward Heaven, will lose all their bitterness and saltness, and sweeten into an amiable Humanity, until they descend in gentle showers of love and kindness upon our fellow-men."

^Loquacity. Fuller. T EARN to hold thy Tongue. Five Words cost Zaeharias forty Weeks' Silence.

HtHjltaCttg* — Fuller. THOU may'st esteem a Man of many Words and many Lies much alike.

?iofo£» — Shakspeare.
She is so conjunctive to my life and Soul,
That, as the Star moves not but in his Sphere,
I could not but by her.

3Lob£, ShaJcspeare.
QR, that persuasion could but thus convince me,

That my Integrity and Truth to you
Might be affronted with the match and weight
Of such a winnow'd purity in Love:
How were I then up-lifted! but alas,
I am as true as Truth's simplicity,
And simpler than the infancy of Truth.

3L0u£* — ShaJcspeare. This bud of Love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous Flower, when next we meet.

Hob*. — Campbell.
TN joyous Youth, what soul hath never known

Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own?
Who hath not paused while Beauty's pensive eye
Ask'd from his Heart the homage of a sigh?
Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame,
The power of Grace, the magic of a Name?

3Lob0. — ShaTcspeare.
Q BRAWLING Love! 0 loving Hate!

0 anything, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious Vanity 1
Mis-shapen Chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of Lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick Health!
Still-waking Sleep, that is not what it is!

Hob?* —Moore.
T OVE was to his impassion'd soul
Not, as with others, a mere part
Of its existence, but the whole—
The very Life Breath of his Heart!

ILflbe* —Byron.

Instead of poppies, Willows Waved o'er his couch; he meditated, fond Of those sweet bitter thoughts which banish sleep, And make the Worldling sneer, the Youngling weep.

fLobtf* — Spenser.
So Love does raine
In stoutest minds, and maketh monstrous Warre:

He maketh warre: he maketh Peace againe,
And yett his Peace is but continuall Jarre:
Oh miserable men that to him subject arre!

^LObC—Mrs. Tiglie. f)H! never may Suspicion's gloomy sky

Chill the sweet glow of fondly trusting Love! Nor ever may he feel the scowling eye

Of dark Distrust his Confidence reprove!

In pleasing error may I rather rove, With blind reliance on the hand so dear,

Than let cold Prudence from my eyes remove Those sweet delusions, where no doubt nor fear, Nor foul Disloyalty, nor cruel Change appear.

3Lob£* SJiaJcspeare.
She loved me for the Dangers I had pass'd;
And I loved her, that she did pity them.

ILflbc* — ShaJcspeare.
A Lover's pinch,
Which hurts, and is desired.

?Lobe* — Bijron.
Oh! I envy those
Whose Hearts on Hearts as faithful can repose,
Who never feel the void—the wandering thought
That sighs o'er visions—such as mine hath wrought.

Hob?* —ShaJcspeare.
If ever thou shalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it remember me:
For, such as I am, all true Lovers are;
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
Save, in the constant Image of the creature
That is beloved.

Hob?* — ShaJcspeare.
I Tell thee, I am mad
In Cressid's love. Thou answer'st, she is fair;
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my Heart
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;
Handiest in thy discourse—0 that! her hand!
(In whose comparison, all whites are Ink
Writing their own reproach) to whose soft seizure
The Cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of Sense
Hard as the palm of Ploughman.

Hob?* — ShaJcspeare.
If he be not one that truly loves you,
That errs, in Ignorance, and not in cunning,
I have no judgment in an Honest face.
Z

ftobe* — Mrs. TigTte. C\R! who the exquisite delight can tell,

The joy which mutual Confidence imparts? Or who can paint the charm unspeakable

Which links in tender bands two faithful Hearts?

In vain assail'd by Fortune's envious darts, Their mitigated woes are sweetly shared,

And doubled Joy reluctantly departs: Let but the sympathizing heart be spared, What Sorrow seems not light, what Peril is not dared?

3Loi)£* — Shakspeare. "POLDNESS comes to me now, and brings me Heart:

Prince Troilus, I have loved you night and day,
For many weary months.
Why was my Cressid then so hard to win?
Hard to seem won: but I was won, my lord,
With the first glance that ever—pardon me—
If I confess much, you will play the Tyrant:
I love you now; but not till now, so much
But I might master it—in faith, I lie—
My thoughts were, like unbridled children, grown
Too headstrong for their Mother; see, we fools!
Why have I blabb'd? who shall be true to us,
When we are so unsecret to ourselves?
But though I loved you well, I woo'd you not;
And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a Man:
Or that We women had men's privilege,
Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue;
For in this rapture I shall surely speak
The thing I shall repent; see, see, your silence
(Cunning in dumbness) from my Weakness draws
My very Soul of Counsel.

3Lob£*Dry den.
The power of Love,
In Earth, and Seas, and Air, and Heaven above,
Bules, unresisted, with an awful nod;
By daily miracles declared a god:
He blinds the Wise, gives eyesight to the blind;
And moulds and stamps anew the Lover's mind.

IL0u£* — Sir Samuel E. Brydges.
C\ Love! requited Love, how fine thy thrills,

That shake the trembling flame with ecstasy;
Even every vein celestial pleasure fills,
And inexpressive Bliss is in each sigh.

ILflbtf* — Shakspeare.
To be
In love, where Scorn is bought with Groans; coy Looks,
With heart-sore Sighs; one fading moment's Mirth,
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:
If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain;
If lost, why then a grievous labour won;
However, but a Folly bought with Wit;
Or else a Wit by Folly vanquished.

3Lob0, — ShaJcspeare.

Why, what would you?
Make me a Willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my Soul within the house;
Write loyal cantos of contemned Love,
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Holla your name to the reverberate Hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! Oh, you should not rest
Between the elements of Air and Earth,
But you should pity me.

Hob?* — Shakspeare.
"RUT Love, first learned in a lady's Eyes,
Lives not alone immured in the Brain;
But with the motion of all elements,
Courses as swift as Thought in every power;
And gives to every power a double power,
Above their functions and their offices.
It adds a precious seeing to the Eye:
A Lover's Eyes will gaze an Eagle blind!
A Lover's Ear will hear the lowest sound,
When the suspicious head of thrift is stopt.
Love's Feeling is more soft and sensible,
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails.
Love's Tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in Taste; ^

For Savour, is not Love a Hercules? |

Still climbing trees in the Hesperides.
Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical
As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair:
And when Love speaks the voice of all the Gods,
Mark, Heaven drowsie with the harmony!
Never durst Poet touch a pen to write,
Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs;
Oh, then his lines would ravish savage ears,
And plant in Tyrants mild humility.

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