Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven,
As make the angels weep: who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal.

SHAKESPEARE.

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,

And drap a tear.

Is there a bard of rustic song,

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.

Reader, attend-whether thy soul
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,
In low pursuit ;

Know, prudent, cautious, self-control

Is wisdom's root.

BASHFULNESS.

BURNS.

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.

BEAUTY. (A satirical one)

COWPER.

Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, Misprising what they look on; and her wit Values itself so highly, that to her

All matter else seems weak: she cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is so self-endeared.

I never yet saw man,

How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd.
But she would spell him backward: if fair-faced,
She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister;
If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic,
Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill headed:
If low, an agate very vilely cut:

If speaking, why, a vane blown with all wind:
If silent, why a block moved with none.
So turns she every man the wrong side out:
And never gives to truth and virtue, that
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.

SHAKESPEARE.

BEAUTY. (Moral and natural compared) Look then abroad through nature, to the range Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres Wheeling unshaken through the void immense; And speak, O man! does this capacious scene With half that kindling majesty dilate Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose Refulgent from the stroke of Cæsar's fate, Amid the crowd of patriots; and his arm Aloft extending, like eternal Jove

When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel.

AKENSIDE.

BEING. (Pangs at our resigning)

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires : Ev'n from the tomb, the voice of nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

BELIAL. (His Character)

GRAY.

Belial, in act more graceful and humane;
A fairer person lost not Heav'n; he seem'd
For dignity compos'd and high exploit:
But all was false and hollow; though his tongue
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.

BELINDA. (Character of)

MILTON.

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.

BEELZEBUB. (His Character)

Than whom

Satan except, none higher sat, with grave
Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem'd

POPE.

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.

MILTON.

BEPPO AND LAURA. (Humourous 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 ?-Oh! 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 knownHow short your hair is!-Lord! how gray it's grown!

BYRON.