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CHASTE as the icicle,
That's curdled by the frost of purest snow,
And hangs on Dian's temple.


Mine honour's such a ring:.
My chastity's the jewel of our house,
Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
Which were the greatest obloquy i' th' world
In me to lose.

Thou, my love, art sweeter far than balmy
Incense in the purple smoke; pure and
Unspotted as the cleanly ermine, ere
The hunter sullies her with his pursuit;
Soft as her skin; chaste as th’ Arabian bird
That wants a sex to woo, or as the dead,
That are divorc'd from warmth, from objects,
And from thought.

Sir W. Davenant. On thy fair brow shines such a legend writ Of chastity, as blinds the adultrous eye: Not the mountain ice Congealed to crystals, is so frosty chaste As thy victorious soul, which conquers man, And man's proud tyrant-passion.

Dryden. So dear to heaven is saintly chastity, That when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liv'ried angels lacquey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt.





She that has that is clad in complete steel,
And, like a quivered nymph with arrows keen,
May trace huge forests and unharboured heaths,
Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds,
Where, through the sacred rays of chastity,
No savage fierce bandit, or mountaineer,
Will dare to soil her virgin purity.
Yea, there, where very desolation dwells,
By grots and caverns shagged with horrid shades
She may pass on with unblenched majesty.-Milton.




Of all flowers Methinks a rose the best.

Why, gentle maiden? It is the very emblem of a maid; For when the west wind courts her gently, How modestly she blows, and paints the sun [her, With her chåste blush! When the north comes near Rude and impatient, then, like chastity, She locks her beauties in her bud again, And leaves him to bare briars.


That modest grace subdued my soul,
That chastity of look, which seems to hang
A veil of purest light o'er all her beauties,
And by forbidding most inflames desire.


They say this town is full of cozenage,
As nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,

such like libertines of sin. Shakspere. Empyrick politicians use deceit, Hide what they give, and cure but by a cheat.

When I consider life, 't is all a cheat;
Yet fooled with hope, men favour the deceit;
Trust in, and think to-morrow will repay;
To-morrow 's falser than the former day;
Lies worse, and while it says we shall be blest
With some new joy, cuts off what we possest.

Doubtless the pleasure is as great,
In being cheated, as to cheat,
As lookers-on feel most delight,
That least perceive the juggler's sleight;
And still the less they understand,
The more th' admire the sleight of hand.


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In little trades more cheats and lying
Are us'd in selling, than in buying;
But in the great, unjuster dealing
Is us’d in buying, than in selling.


For the dull world most honour pay to those,
Who on their understanding most impose;
First man creates, and then he fears the elf:
Thus others cheat him not, but he himself.
He loathes the substance, and he loves the show;
He hates realities, and hugs the cheat,
And still the only pleasure's the deceit.
So meteors flatter with a dazzling dye,
Which no existence has but in the eye.
At distance prospects please us, but when near,
We find but desert rocks, and fleeting air;
From stratagem to stratagem we run,
And he knows most who latest is undone.—Garrick.

HEE that loves a rosie cheeke,

Or corall lips admires,
Or_from star-like eyes doth seeke

Fuell to maintaine his fires :
As old time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
But a smooth and stedfaste mind,

Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combin'd,

Kindle never-dying fires;
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes.—Thomas Carew.

Daughter of the rose, whose cheeks unite
The differing titles of the red and white,
Who heaven's alternate beauty will display
The blush of morning and the milky way.


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For since mine eyes your joyous sight did miss,
My cheerful day is turned to cheerless night.

Cheerful looks make every dish a feast,
And 't is that crowns a welcome.


Goltho by nature was of music made:

Cheerful as victors warm in their success He seemed, like birds, created to be glad; And nought but love could make him taste distress.

Sir W. Davenant. May the man That cheerfully recounts the female's praise, Find equal love, and love's untainted sweets Enjoy with honour.

Phillips. When cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulders flung, Her buskins gemm’d with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung.

Collins. Behold the turtle who has lost her mate; Awhile with drooping wings she mourns his fate; But time the rueful image wears away; Again she's cheer'd, again she seeks the day.-Gay. I think we are too ready with complaint In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope, Indeed, beyond the zenith and the slope Of yon gray blank of sky, we might be faint To muse upon eternity's constraint Round our aspirant souls. But since the scope Must widen early, is it well to droop For a few days consumed in loss and taint? O pusillanimous heart, be comfortedAnd like a cheerful traveller, take the roadSinging beside the hedge. What if the bread Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod To meet the flints? At least it may be said, "Because the way is short, I thank thee, God!"

Elizabeth Barrett Browning.


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If she do frown 't is not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you;.
If she do chide 't is not to have you give.

Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth.

Shakspere. Those that do teach your babes, Do it with gentle means, and easy tasks; He might have chid me so; for, in good faith, I am a child to chiding.

Scilla wept,
And chid her barking waves into attention.—Milton.

You look as if yon stern philosopher
Had just now cħid you.

I chid the folly of my thoughtless haste;
For the work perfected, the joy was past.


CHILD_CHILDHOOD. THE hour arrives, the moment wished and feared; The child is born, by many a pang endeared, And now the mother's ear has caught his cry; Oh, grant the cherub to her asking eye! He comes—she clasps him. To her bosom pressed He drinks the balm of and drops to rest.

Rogers. When heaven and angels, earth and earthly things Do leave the guilty in their guiltinessA cherub's voice doth whisper in a child's, There is a shrine within thy little heart Where I will hide, nor hear the trump of doom.

Maturin. Children are blest, and powerful; their world lies More justly balanced; partly at their feet, And part far from them.


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