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And some habitual queries hurried o'er,
Without reply, he rushes on the door :
His drooping patient, long innur'd to pain,
And long unheeded, knows remonstrance vain;
He ceases now the feeble help to crave
Of Man; and silent sinks into the grave.

ARMY. Character of one.

All the unsettled humours of the land-
Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,
With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens,—
Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,
Bearing their birth-rights proudly on their backs,
To make a hazard of new fortunes here.
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits,
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er,
Did never float upon the swelling tide,
To do offence and scath in Christendom.
The interruption of their churlish drums
Cuts off more circumstance they are at hand.

Crabbe.

Shakspeare.

ARTS. Views extend with our Progress in.
Fir'd at first sight, with what the muse imparts,
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts,
While from the bounded level of our mind
Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind;
But, more advanc'd, behold with strange surprise
New distant scenes of endless science rise!
So pleas'd at first the tow'ring Alps we try
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky;
Th' eternal snows appear already past,

And the first clouds and mountains seem tne last;
But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey

The growing labours of the lengthen'd way

Th' increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes,

Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise! Pope
ASPASIA. Character of.

Aspasia's highly born, and nicely bred,
Of taste refin'd, in life and manners read,
Yet reaps no fruit from her superior sense,
But to be teas'd by her own excellence.
"Folks are so awkward! things so unpolite!
She's clegantly pain'd from morn to night.
Her delicacy's shock'd where'er she goes;
Each creature's imperfections are her woes.
Heaven by its favours has the fair distress'd,
And pour'd such blessings-that she cant be blest.

ATTICUS.

Character of.

Young.

Peace to all such! but were there one whose fires
True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires;
Blest with each talent and each art to please,
And born to write, converse, and live with ease:
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne,
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes,
And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rise;
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer;
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike;
Alike reserv'd to blame, or to commend,
A tim'rous foe, and a suspicious friend;
Dreading ev'n fools, by flatterers besieged,
And so obliging, that he ne'er oblig'd;
Like Cato, gives his little Senate laws,
And sit, attentive to his own applause;

While Wits and Templars ev'ry sentence raise,
And wonder with a foolish face of praise,-
Who but must laugh, if such a man there be?
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he?

ATOSSA. Character of.

But what are these to great Atossa's mind?
Scarce once herself, by turns all womankind!
Who, with herself, or others, from her birth
Finds all her life one warfare upon earth
Shines in exposing knaves, and painting fools,
Yet is whate'er she hates and ridicules.
No thought advances, but her eddy brain
Whisks it about, and down it goes again
Full sixty years the world has been her trade,
The wisest fool much time has ever made.
From loveless youth to unrespected age
No passion gratified, except her rage,
So much the fury, still outran the wit,

The pleasure miss'd her, and the scandal hit.
Who breaks with her, provokes revenge from hell;
But he's a bolder man who dares be well.

Pope

Pope

AUTHORITY.

The abuse of.

O, it is excellent

To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous

To use it like a giant.

Could great men thunder

As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet :

For every pelting, petty officer,

Would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but thunder.

Merciful heaven!

Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt.

Split's the unwedgeable and gnarled oak,

Than the soft myrtle.-O, but man, proud man.

Drest in a little brief authority;

Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
His glassy essence,-like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven,

As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal.

BARD. A Bard's Epitaph.

Is there a whim-inspired fool,

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule.
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,
Let him draw near;

And owre this grassy heap sing dool,

Is there a bard of rustic song,

And drap a tear.

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among,

That weekly this area throng,

O, pass not by !

But with a frater-feeling strong,

Here, heave a sigh.

Is there a man whose judgment clear,
Can others teach the course to steer,
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career,

Wild as the wave;

Here pause-and, through the starting tear,

Survey this grave.

The poor inhabitant below

Was quick to learn and wise to know,

And keenly felt the friendly glow,

And softer flame,

But thoughtless follies laid him low,

And stained his name.

Shakspeare.

BASHFULNESS.

Reader, attend-whether thy soul
Soars fancy's flight beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,

In low pursuit ;
Know, prudent, cautious, self control

Is wisdom's root.

BASHFULNESS.

I pity bashful men, who feel the pain
Of fancied scorn and undeserv'd disdain,
And bear the marks upon a blushing face
Of needless shame, and self impos'd disgrace.
Our sensibilities are so acute,

The fear of being silent makes us mute.

We sometimes think we could a speech produce
Much to the purpose, if our tongues were loose;
But being tried, it dies upon the lip,

Faint as a chicken's note that has the pip:
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,
Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.
Few Frenchmen of this evil have complain'd;
It seems as if we Britons were ordain'd,
By way of wholesome curb upon our pride,
To fear each other, fearing none beside.
The cause perhaps inquiry may descry,
Self-searching with an introverted eye,
Conceal'd within an unsuspected part,
The vainest corner of our own vain heart:
For ever aiming at the world's esteem,
Our self-importance ruins its own scheme,
In other eyes our talents rarely shown,
Become at length so splendid in our own,
We dare not risk them into public view,
Lest they miscarry of what seems their due.

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