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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.
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.
A copper-plate, with almanacks
’t; and other nacks
What toil did honest Curio take,
For being true antique I bought;
On modern models to be wrought;
Because they ’re old, because they ’re new. -Prior,
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:
He had a routh o' auld nick-nackets,
A towmond gude;
Smith. Antiquity, the childhood of the world, Broods like a torpid vapour o'er thy clime, Dulling its vigour into drowsy calm.
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?
Appearances to save, his only care;
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.
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.