Be thrifty, but not covetous; therefore give
Thy need, thine honour, and thy friend, his due:
Never was scraper brave man. Get to live;
Then live, and use it; else it is not true
That thou hast gotten: surely, use alone
Makes money not a contemptible stone.

GEORGE HERBERT.

He turns with anxious heart and crippled hands
His bonds of debt and mortgages of lands;
Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes,
Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies.
DR. JOHNSON.

The love of gold, that meanest rage
And latest folly of man's sinking age,
Which, rarely venturing in the van of life,
While nobler passions wage their heated strife,
Comes skulking last, with selfishness and fear,
And dies collecting lumber in the rear.

MOORE. Thoughtful of gain, I all the live-long day Consume in meditation deep.

JOHN PHILIPS.

Is yellow dirt the passion of thy life? Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife.

РОРЕ.

'Tis strange the miser should his cares employ
To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy;
Is it less strange the prodigal should waste
His wealth to purchase what he ne'er can taste?

POPE.

Who sees pale Mammon pine amidst his store,
Sees but a backward steward for the poor;
This year a reservoir, to keep and spare;
The next, a fountain spouting through his heir.
РОРЕ.

Benighted wanderers the forest o'er,
Curse the saved candle and unopening door;
While the gaunt mastiff, growling at the gate,
Affrights the beggar whom he longs to eat.

POPE.

When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend The wretch who living saved a candle's end; Should'ring God's altar a vile image stands, Belies his features, nay, extends his hands. POPE.

They meanly pilfer, as they bravely fought, Now save a nation, and now save a groat. POPE.

Our battle is more full of names than yours,
Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;
Then reason wills our hearts should be as good.
SHAKSPEARE.

He which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made.
SHAKSPEARE.

O noble English! that could entertain,
With half their forces, the full pride of France,
And let another half stand laughing by,
All out of work, and cold for action.

SHAKSPEARE.

To-morrow in the battle think on me,
And fall thy edgeless sword; despair, and die.
SHAKSPEARE.

In that day's feats

He proved the best man i' th' field; and for his meed

Was brow-bound with the oak.

SHAKSPEARE.

Mine emulation

Hath not that honour in't it had; for
I thought to crush him in an equal force,
True sword to sword.

SHAKSPEARE.

The interruption of their churlish drums
Cuts off more circumstance; they are at hand
To parley, or to fight.

SHAKSPEARE.

In this kind to come, in braving arms,
Be his own carver, and cut out his way,
To find out right with wrong,-it may not be.
SHAKSPEARE.

Against whose fury, and th' unmatched force,
The aweless lion could not wage the fight.
SHAKSPEARE.

Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.

SHAKSPEARE.

Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath,
That they may crush down, with a heavy fall,
Th' usurping helmets of our adversaries!
SHAKSPEARE.
Themselves at discord fell,
And cruel combat join'd in middle space,
With horrible assault and fury fell.
SPENSER.

She moves! life wanders up and down
Through all her face, and lights up every charm.
ADDISON.

In praising Chloris, moon, and stars, and skies,
Are quickly made to match her face and eyes;
And gold and rubies, with as little care,
To fit the colours of her lips and hair;
And mixing suns, and flowers, and pearls, and
stones,

Make them seem all complexions at once.
BUTLER.

The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,
And oh! that eye was in itself a soul.

BYRON: Bride of Abydos.

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
BYRON: Hebrew Melodies.

She was a form of life and light,
That, seen, became a part of sight;
And rose, where'er I turn'd my eye,
The morning star of memory.

BYRON: Giaour. Like pensive beauty smiling in her tears. CAMPBELL.

It is not beauty I demand,

A crystal brow, the moon's despair, Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand, Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair. CAREW.

All the beauties of the court besides
Are mad in love, and dote upon your person.
SIR J. DENHAM.

She by whose lines proportion should be

Examined, measure of all symmetry;

Such were the features of her heav'nly face; Her limbs were form'd with such harmonious

grace;

So faultless was the frame, as if the whole Had been an emanation of the soul.

DRYDEN.

Her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, her shapes, her features,

Seem to be drawn by Love's own hand; by Love Himself in love.

DRYDEN.

Vouchsafe, illustrious Ormond, to behold What pow'r the charms of beauty had of old.

DRYDEN.

Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray;
Who can tread sure on the smooth slipp'ry way?
Pleased with the passage, we glide swiftly on,
And see the dangers which we cannot shun.

DRYDEN.

When factious rage to cruel exile drove
The queen of beauty and the court of love,
The muses droop'd with their forsaken arts.
DRYDEN.

And she that was not only passing fair,
But was withal discreet and debonair,
Resolved the passive doctrine to fulfil.

DRYDEN.

But none, ah! none can animate the lyre,
And the mute strings with vocal souls inspire:
Whether the learn'd Minerva be her theme,
Or chaste Diana bathing in the stream;
None can record their heav'nly praise so well
As Helen, in whose eyes ten thousand cupids
dwell.

DRYDEN.

Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit, The pow'r of beauty I remember yet.

DRYDEN.

Few admired the native red and white
Till poets dress'd them up to charm the sight.

DRYDEN.

Her who fairest does appear,