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TIME thou anticipat'st my dread exploits!
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook,
Unless the deed go with it.


Why should we Anticipate our sorrows? 't is like those Who die for fear of death.

Denham. Her fancy follow'd him through foaming waves To distant shores, and she would sit and weep At what a sailor suffers. Fancy, too, Delusive most where warmest wishes are, Would oft anticipate his glad return, And dream of transports she was not to know.—Cowper.

Some men there are love not a gaping pig;
Some that are mad if they behold a cat.
Masterless passion sways it to the mood
Of what it likes or loathes.

Ask you what provocation I have had?
The strong antipathy of good to bad. Pope.

ANTIQUARY-ANTIQUITY. INSTRUCTED by the antiquary, time, He must, he is, he cannot but be wise. --Shakspere.

They are the Registers—the chronicles of the age They were made in, and speak the truth of history, Better than a hundred of your printed Communications.

S. Marmyon. They say he sits All day in contemplation of a statue With ne'er a nose; and dotes on the decays, With greater love than the self-loved Narcissus Did on his beauty.

S. Marmyon.

A copper-plate, with almanacks
Engrav'd upon

’t; and other nacks
Of Booker's, Lilly's, Sarah Jimmer's,
And blank schemes to discover nimmers;
A moon dial, with Napier's bones,
And sev'ral constellati stones.


What toil did honest Curio take,
What strict inquiries did he make,
To get one medal wanting yet,
And perfect all his Roman set!
'Tis found! and oh! his happy lot!
”T is bought, locked up, and lies forgot!--Prior.
My copper lamps at any rate,

For being true antique I bought;
Yet wisely melted down my plate,

On modern models to be wrought;
And trifles I alike pursue,

Because they ’re old, because they ’re new. -Prior,
With sharpened sight pale antiquaries pore;
The inscriptions value, but the rust adore.

Pope. He shows on holidays a sacred pin, That touched the ruff, that touched Queen Bess's chin.

Young. Rare are the buttons of a Roman's breeches, In antiquarian eyes surpassing riches; Rare is each cracked, black, rotten, earthen dish, That held of ancient Rome—the flesh and fish.

Dr. Wolcot. I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent, Wisdom and cunning had their share of him; But he was shrewish as a wayward child, And pleased again by toys which childhood please ; As-book of fables grand with print of wood, Or else the jingling of a rusty medal, Or the rare melody of some old ditty, That first was sung to please King Pepin's cradle.

Scott. Name not those living death’s-heads unto me, For these not ancient but antique be.




And sooner shall a galling weather spy:
By drawing forth heaven's scheme, tell certainly
What fashioned hats, or ruffs, or suits next year
Our giddy-headed antique youth will wear.- Donne.

He had a routh o' auld nick-nackets,
Rusty airn caps, and jingling jackets;
Would held the Loudons three in tackets,

A towmond gude;
And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets,
Afore the flude.

Must he no more divert the tedious day,
Nor sparkling thoughts in antique words convey?

Smith. Antiquity, the childhood of the world, Broods like a torpid vapour o'er thy clime, Dulling its vigour into drowsy calm.

R. Montgomery.

APPAREL. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man.-Shakspere. Thy gown? why, ay:-come tailor let us see 't. O mercy, good! what masking stuff is here? What's this? a sleeve? 't is like a demi-cannon: What! up and down, carv'd like an apple-tart? Here's snip, and nip, and cut, and slish, and slash, Like to a censer in a barber's shop:-Why what, a’devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this?



Of good and evil much they argued then,
Passion and apathy, glory and shame.
In lazy apathy let stoics boast
Their virtue fixed; 't is fixed as in frost,
Contracted all retiring to the breast!
But strength of mind is exercise, not rest.


HEROIC virtue did his actions guide,
And he the substance, not the appearance chose.

Or grant her passion be sincere,
How shall his innocence appear?
Appearances were all so strong,
The world must think him in the wrong.


Appearances to save, his only care;
So things seem right no matter what they are.

Appearances deceive,
And this one maxim is a standing rule-
Men are not what they seem.

Havard. .

APPETITE. READ over this, and after this and then To breakfast with what appetite you have.Shakspere.

Why should she hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on.


Each tree
Loaden with fairest fruit, that hung to the eye
Tempting, stirred on the sudden appetite
To pluck and eat.

How few, alas! in nature's wide domains
The sacred charm of sympathy restrains!
Unchecked desires from appetite commence,
And pure reflection yields to selfish sense.—Darwin.
Alas! our carnal appetites are still
The ministers to our unruly will;
Unchecked, unbridled unto them we give
The reins, and do like brutes that perish live,
In sensual joys and pleasures take delight,
And are the very slaves of appetite. Egone.




I would applaud thee to the very echo,
That should applaud again.

He said, and as the sound of waters deep
Hoarse murmur, echoed to his words applause
Through the infinite host.


Sylla wept, And chid her barking waves into attention; And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause.Milton. Kings fight for empire, madmen for applause.

Dryden. He spoke and bowed, with muttering jaws, The wondering circle grinned applause.

Gay. I have no taste For popular applause; the noisy praise Of giddy crowds as changeable as winds; Still vehement, and still without a cause, Servants to chance, and blowing in the tide Of swoln success; but veering with the ebb, It leaves the channel dry.

Oh, popular applause! what heart of man
Is proof against thy sweet seducing charms - Cowper.
In murmured pity or loud-roared applause. Byron.

Waits on success; the fickle multitude,
Like the light straw that floats along the stream,
Glide with the current still and follow fortune.


In vain the Tyrian queen resigns her life
For the chaste glory of a virtuous wife,
If lying bards may false amours rehearse,
And blast her name with arbitrary verse.
The regal tyrants shall with blushes hide
Their little lusts of arbitrary pride,
Nor bear to see their vassals tied.



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