Amid the flux of many thousand years, Yet Providence, that ever waking eye, Ibid-Winter. Father of light and life! thou Good Supreme! From every low pursuit! and feed my soul With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure; Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss! In the vast, and the minute, we see Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing, And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. Ibid. Cowper's Task. What prodigies can power divine perform Ibid, b. 6. DELAY. Your gift is princely, but it comes too late, Suckling's Brennoralt. Go, fool, and teach a cataract to creep! Can thirst of empire, vengeance, beauty, wait? Young's Brothers, a. 2. Our greatest actions, or of good or evil, Lord John Russell's Don Carlos. Be wise to-day; 'tis madness to defer; Young's Night Thoughts, n. 1. Procrastination is the thief of time; DESPAIR. Methinks we stand on ruin; Nature shakes Ibid. Lee's Edipus. What miracle Can work me into hope! Heav'n here is bankrupt, Curs'd fate! malicious stars! you now have drain'd Lee's Mithridates. My loss is such as cannot be repair'd, Dryden's Marriage à la Mode. Consider how the desperate fight ;Despair strikes wild,—but often fatal tooAnd in the mad encounter wins success. Havard's Regulus. Tell me why, good Heav'n! Thou mad'st me what I am, with all the spirit, That fill the happy'st man? Ah! rather, why Otway's Venice Preserved. Let her rave, And prophesy ten thousand thousand horrors; The stings of love and rage are fix'd within, A general wreck of nature now would please me. Rowe's Royal Convert, a. 3, s. 1. Talk not of comfort, 'tis for lighter ills: O Lucius, I am sick of this bad world! The day-light and the sun grow painful to me. Ibid. Whether first nature, or long want of peace, Rage on, ye winds; burst clouds, and waters roar ! And suit the gloomy habit of my soul! Young's Revenge, a. 1. Why let them come; let in the raging torrent : Young's Busiris, a. 4. All judging heav'n Was there no bolt, no punishment above?— Hell loudly owns it, and the damn'd themselves When desperate ills demand a speedy cure, Dr. Johnson's Irene. Mine after-life! what is mine after-life? Joanna Baillie's Basil, a. 4, s. 3. Welcome rough war; with all thy scenes of blood; Be it what it may, or bliss, or torment, Ibid. Or some dread thing, man's wildest range of thought Hath never yet conceiv'd, that change I'll dare Which makes me any thing but what I am. Ibid. a. 5, s. 2. I would have time turn'd backward in his course, Canst thou do this for me? Joanna Baillie's Rayner, a. 4, s. 2. O, that I were upon some desert coast! Joanna Baillie's De Montfort, a. 4, s. 2. Ibid. a. 5, s. 2. O that I had been form'd An idiot from the birth! a senseless changeling, He hangs upon me like a dead man's grasp On the wreck'd swimmer's neck. Joanna Baillie's Ethwald, a. 4, s. 1. Full many a storm on this grey head has beat; I'm sick of worldly broils, and fain would rest Ibid. a. 4, s. 6. O night, when good men rest, and infants sleep! But a fear'd time of waking more intense, Ibid. pt. 2, a. 4, s. 2. Thou sayest I am a wretch And thou sayest true-these weeds do witness itThese wave-worn weeds-these bare and bruised limbs, |