Dropp'd manna, and could make the worse appear
The better reason, to perplex and dash
Maturest counsels; for his thoughts were low;
To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds
Timorous and slothful; yet he pleas'd the ear.
On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore.
Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose,
Quick as her eyes, and as unfixt as those:
Favours to none, to all she smiles extends;
Oft she rejects, but never once offends.
Bright as the sun her eyes the gazers strike,
And, like the sun, they shine on all alike.
Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride,
Might hide their faults, if belles had faults to hide:
If to her share some female errors fall,
Look on her face, and you'll forget them all.
Satan except, none higher sat, with grave
Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem'd
A pillar of state; deep on his front engraven,
Deliberation sat and public care;
And princely counsel in his face yet shone
Majestic, though in ruin; sage he stood,
With Atlantean shoulders fit to bear
The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look
Drew audience and attention, still as night
Or summer's noontide air,
BEPPO AND LAURA. Humorous Rencontre between.
Now, Laura, much recover'd, or less loth
To speak, cries, "Beppo! what's your Pagan name?
Bless me! your beard is of amazing growth!
And how came you to keep away so long?
Are you not sensible t'was very wrong?
"And are you really, truly, now a Turk?
With any other woman did you wive?
Is't true they use their fingers for a fork?
Well, that's the prettiest shawl-as I'm alive!-
You'll give it me?-They say you eat no pork-
And how so many years did you contrive
To-Bless me! did I ever-No, I never
Saw a man grown so yellow!-How's your liver?
"Beppo! that beard of your's becomes you not;
It shall be shaved before you're a day older;
Why do you wear it?-Ob! I had forgot-
Pray, don't you think the weather here is colder?
How do I look?-You shan't stir from this spot
In that queer dress, for fear that some beholder
Should find you out and make the story known—
How short your hair is!-Lord! how gray it's grown!
Byron.
BLINDNESS. Milton's Complaint of.
Thee I revisit safe,
And feel thy sov'reign vital lamp; but thou
Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;
So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs,
Or dim suffusion veil'd. Yet not the more
Cease I to wander, where the Muses baunt
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill.-
Thus with the year
Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud instead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
Presented with an universal blank
Of nature's works, to me expung'd and ras'd,
And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.
So much the rather thou, celestial Light,
Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers
Irradiate; there plant eyes, all mist from thence
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
Of things invisible to mortal sight.
BLISS. Human, small.
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall,
To see the board of human blisss so small;
And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find
Some spot to real happiness consign'd;
Where my worn soul, each wand'ring hope at rest,
May gather bliss to see my fellows blest.
BLUNTNESS. Affected.
This is some fellow,
Who, baving been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect
A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb,
Quite from his nature: He cannot flatter, he!-
An honest mind and plain,-he must speak truth:
An' if they will take it, so; if not, he's plain.
These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness
Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends,
Than twenty silly ducking observants,
That stretch their duties nicely.
BOASTING. Of Youth.
I'll hold thee any wager,
When we are both accouter'd like young men,
I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two,
And wear my dagger with a braver grace;
And speak, between the change of man and boy,
With a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps
Into a manly stride; and speak of frays,
Like a fine bragging youth; and tell quaint lies,
How honourable ladies sought my love,
Which I denying, they fell sick and died;
I could not do with all;-then I'll repent,
And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them:
And twenty of these puuy lies I'll tell,
That men shall swear, I have discontinued school
Above a twelvemonth.
Shakspeare:
BODIES. Heavenly, Regularity of.
Nor think thou seest a wild disorder here;
Through this illustrious chaos, to the sight,
Arrangement neat, and chastest order reign.
The path prescrib'd, inviolably kept,
Upbraids the lawless sallies of mankind:
Worlds, ever thwarting, never interfere;
They rove for ever, without error rove:
Confusion unconfus'd! nor less admire
This tumult untumultuous; all on wing,
In motion all! yet what profound repose!
What fervid action, yet no noise! as aw'd
To silence by the presence of their Lord.
BROTHERS. Affection for.
Where'er 1 roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee:
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,
And drags, at each remove, a lengthening chain.
Buro. Character of.
Proud, as Apollo on his forked hill,
Sat full-blown Bufo, puff'd by ev'ry quill;
Fed with soft dedication all day long,
Horace and he went hand in hand in song.
His library (where busts of poets dead
And a true Pindar stood without a head)
Receiv'd of wits an undistinguish'd race,
Who first his judgment ask'd, and then a place:
Much they extoll'd his pictures, much bis seat,
And flatter'd every day, and some days eat:
Till grown more frugal in his riper days,
He paid some bards with port, and some with praise;
To some a dry rehearsal was assign'd;
And others (harder still) he paid in kind.
Dryden alone (what wonder!) came not nigh;
Dryden alone escap'd this judging eye:
But still the great have kindness in reserve;
He help'd to bury whom he help'd to starve.
Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such,
We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much;
Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat,
To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote;
Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining,
And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining.
Though equal to all things, for all things unfit,
Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit:
For a patriot too cool, for a drudge disobedient,
And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient.
In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, Sir,
To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.
CALIBAN. His Curses.
As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen,
Drop on ye both! a southwest blow on ye,
And blister you all o'er!-
I must eat my dinner.
This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother,
Which thou tak'st from me.
Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me; would'st give
Water with berries in't; and teach me how
To name the bigger light, and how the less,
That burn by day and night: and then I lov'd thee,
And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle,
The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fertile;
Cursed be I that did so!-All the charms
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!
For I am all the subjects that you have,
Which first was mine own king: and here you sty me
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me
The rest of the island.
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