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The first artificer of death; the shrewd
Cowper. And by the law of arms
What law is that? 'T is not the law of God, nor yet above it.
Henry Taylor Who is the happy warrior? who is he That every man in arms should wish to be? -It is the generous spirit who hath wrought Among the plans of real life; _'T is he whose law is reason; who depends Upon that law as on his best of friends;
-Who, if he rise to stations of command,
-Who comprehends his trust, and to the same
Wordsworth. The army, like a lion from his den,
Marched forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay, A human hydra issuing from its fen,
To breathe destruction in its winding way.-Byron,
Pride hath no other glass
Our poet may
Himself admire the fortune of his play;
Who not content
ART-ARTIST. The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious. Shakspere. In framing artists, art hath thus decreed, To make some good, but others to exceed.
Shakspere. Rich with the spoils of many a conquered land, All art and artists Theseus could command, Who sold for hire or wrought for better fame, The master painters and the carvers came.-Dryden. Blest with each grace of nature and of art.
Even copious Dryden wanted, or forgot,
What thing a right line is, the learned know;
Lord Brooke. Such is the strength of art, rough things to shape, And of rude commons rich enclosures make.
James Howell. For though I must confess an artist can Contrive things better than another man, Yet when the task is done, he finds his pains Sought but to fill his belly with his brains. Is this the guerdon due to liberal arts, T'admire the head and then to starve the parts? Timely prevention though discreetly used Before the fruits of knowledge were abused. When learning has incurr'd a fearful damp, To save our oil, 't is good to quench the lamp.
Art is wondrous long,
O. W. Holmes.
New lustre to those charms impart?
Sir William Jones, from the Persian.
ARTIFICE. Why I can smile, and murder while I smile, And cry content, at that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheek with artificial tears.-Shakspere.
He soon aware, Each perturbation smoothed with outward calm, Artificer of fraud! and was the first That practised falsehood under saintly show.—Milton. Shallow artifice begets suspicion, And, like a cobweb veil, but thinly shades The face of thy design; alone disguising What should have ne'er been seen; imperfect mischief! Thou, like the adder, venomous and deaf, Hast stung the traveller; and after hear'st Not his pursuing voice; e'en when thou think'st To hide, the rustling leaves and bended grass Confess, and point the path which thou hast crept. O fate of fools! officious in contriving; In executing-puzzled, lame, and lost. Congreve. A man of sense can artifice disdain, As men of wealth may venture to go plain; I find the fool when I behold the screen, For 't is the wise man's interest to be seen.-Young.
Then rising from His grave,
Blackmore. There is a willow grows aslant a brook That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.
Shakspere. Hence springs that universal strong desire
Which all men have of immortality:
Sir J. Davies.
Longings sublime, and aspirations high. Byron.
The high-born soul Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing Beneath its native quarry. Tired of earth And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft Through fields of air; pursues the flying storm; Rides on the vollied lightnings through the heavens; Or yoked with whirlwinds and the northern blast,