no man goes to bed till he dies, nor wakes till he be dead. -Sir T. Overbury.

DCCCLXXI.

To be prudent, honest, and good are infinitely higher accomplishments, than the being nice, florid, learned, or all that which the world calls great Scholars and fine Gentlemen.-Charron.

DCCCLXXII.

Hail, Wedded Love, mysterious law, true source
Of human offspring, sole propriety

In Paradise of all things common else.

Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure,
Relations dear, and all the charities

Of father, son, and brother, first were known.
Far be it that I should write thee sin or blame,
Or think thee unbefitting holiest place,
Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets,

Whose bed is undefil'd and chaste pronounc'd,
Present, or past, as saints and patriarchs us'd.
Here Love his golden shafts employs, here lights
His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings,
Reigns here and revels;

*

*

*

*

* Not in court amours,
Mix'd dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball,
Or serenade; which the starv'd Lover sings
To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain.

DCCCLXXIII.

Milton.

Shame is a great restraint upon sinners at first; but that soon falls off: and when men have once lost their innocence, their modesty is not like to be long troublesome to them. For impudence comes on with vice, and grows up with it. Lesser vices do not banish all shame and modesty; but great and abominable crimes harden men's foreheads, and make them shameless. When men have the heart to do a very bad thing, they seldom want the face to bear it out.-Tillotson.

DCCCLXXIV.

Zara resembles Etna crown'd with snows;
Without she freezes, and within she glows:
Twice ere the sun descends, with zeal inspir'd,
From the vain converse of the world retir'd,
She reads the psalms and chapters for the day,
In-Cleopatra, or the last new play.

Thus gloomy Zara, with a solemn grace,
Deceives mankind, and hides behind her face.
Nor far beneath her in renown, is she,
Who, through good-breeding, is ill company;
Whose manners will not let her larum cease,
Who thinks you are unhappy, when at peace;
To find you news, who racks her subtle head,
And vows-that her great grandfather is dead.
A dearth of words a woman need not fear;
But 'tis a task indeed to learn-to hear:
In that the skill of conversation lies;

That shows, or makes, you both polite and wise.

DCCCLXXV.

Young.

A Death-bed Flattery is the worst of treacheries. Ceremonies of mode and compliment are mightily out of season, when life and salvation come to be at stake.Sir R. L'Estrange.

DCCCLXXVI.

Wholesome meats to a vitiated stomach differ little or nothing from unwholesome; and best Books to a naughty mind are not unapplicable to occasions of evil. Bad meats will scarce breed good nourishment in the healthiest concoction; but herein the difference is of bad books, that they to a discreet and judicious reader serve in many respects to discover, to confute, to forewarn, and to illustrate.-Milton on unlicensed Printing.

DCCCLXXVII.

Hail, Independence-by true reason taught,
How few have known, and priz'd thee as they ought,
Some give thee up for riot; some, like boys,
Resign thee, in their childish moods for toys,

Ambition some, some avarice misleads,
And in both cases Independence bleeds;
Abroad, in quest of thee, how many roam,
Nor know they had thee in their reach at home,
Some, though about their paths, their beds about,
Have never had the sense to find thee out;
Others, who know of what they are possess'd,
Like fearful misers, lock thee in a chest,
Nor have the resolution to produce

In these bad times, and bring thee forth for use.

DCCCLXXVIII.

Churchill.

We have one peculiar elegance in our Language above all others, which is conspicuous in the term 'Fellow.' This word, added to any of our adjectives, extremely varies, or quite alters the sense of that with which it is joined. Thus though a modest man' is the most unfortunate of all men, yet a modest fellow' is as superlatively happy. A modest fellow' is a ready creature, who, with great humility, and as great forwardness, visits his patrons at all hours, and meets them in all places, and has so moderate an opinion of himself, that he makes his court at large. If you will not give him a great employment, he will be glad of a little one. He has so great a deference for his benefactor's judgment, that as he thinks himself fit for any thing he can get, so he is above nothing which is offered. He is like the young bachelor of arts, who came to town recommended to a chaplain's place; but none being vacant, modestly accepted that of a postillion.-Tatler.

DCCCLXXIX.

(The Fair Singer.) To make a final conquest of all me Love did compose so sweet an enemy,

In whom both beauties to my death agree,

Joining themselves in fatal harmony;

That while she with her Eyes my heart does bind,

She with her Voice might captivate my mind.
I could have fled from one but singly fair;

My disentangled soul itself might save,

Breaking the curled trammels of her hair;
But how should I avoid to be her slave,
Whose subtle art invisibly can wreath
My fetters of the very air I breathe?
It had been easy fighting in some plain,
Where victory might hang in equal choice;
But all resistance against her is vain,

Who has th' advantage both of Eyes and Voice,
And all my forces needs must be undone,
She having gained both the wind and sun.

DCCCLXXX.

Marvell.

(Death.) 'Tis not the stoic's lessons got by rote,
The pomp of words and pedant dissertations,
That can sustain thee in that hour of terror:
Books have taught cowards to talk nobly of it,
But when the trial comes they stand aghast.
Hast thou consider'd what may happen after it?
How thy account may stand, and what to answer?
Rowe.

DCCCLXXXI.

What unaccountable creatures are Women! They treat their humble servants like slaves, when they see them; they rail at them, they despise them, they'll hardly vouchsafe them a look, yet are uneasy in their absence.-Tom Brown.

DCCCLXXXII.

Who'd be a crutch to prop a rotten Peer,
Or living pendant, dangling at his ear,

For ever whisp'ring secrets, which were blown
For months before, by trumpets, through the town?
Who'd be a glass, with flattering grimace,

Still to reflect the temper of his face;

Or happy pin to stick upon his sleeve,

When my lord's gracious, and vouchsafes it leave;
Or cushion, when his heaviness shall please
To loll, or thump it, for his better ease;
Or a vile butt, for noon, or night, bespoke,
When the peer rashly swears he'll club his joke?

Who'd shake with laughter, though he cou'd not find
His lordship's jest; or, if his nose broke wind,
For blessings to the gods profoundly bow,

That can cry chimney sweep, or drive a plough?
With terms like these, how mean the tribe that close!
Scarce meaner they, who terms like these impose.
But what's the tribe most likely to comply?
The men of ink, or antient Authors lie;
The writing tribe, who shameless auctions hold
Of praise, by inch of candle to be sold:
All men they flatter, but themselves the most,
With deathless fame, their everlasting boast:
For Fame no cully makes so much her jest,
As her old constant spark, the bard profest.

DCCCLXXXIII.

Young.

I cannot better illustrate what I would say of the French, than by the dress in which they make their shepherds appear in their pastoral interludes upon the stage, as I find it described by a celebrated author.The shepherds,' says he, are all embroidered, and acquit themselves in a ball better than our English dancingmasters. I have seen a couple of rivers appear in red stockings; and Alpheus, instead of having his head covered with sedges and bull-rushes, making love in a fair full-bottomed periwig and a plume of feathers: but with a voice so full of shakes and quivers that I should have thought the murmurs of a country brook the much more agreeable music.'-Steele.

DCCCLXXXIV.

We may be as good as we please, if we please to be good.-Barrow.

DCCCLXXXV.

Beauty, though injurious, hath strange power,
After offence returning, to regain

Love once possess'd, nor can be easily

Repuls'd, without much inward passion felt,

And secret sting of amorous remorse.

Milton