I cast to go a shooting:

Long wand'ring up and down the land
With bow and bolts in either hand,
For birds and bushes tooting:
At length within the ivy tod,
(There shrouded was the little god)
I heard a busy bustling.

I bent my bolt against the bush,
List'ning if any thing did rush,

But then heard no more rustling.
Though peeping close into the thick
Might see the moving of some quick
Whose shape appeared not;
But were it Fairy, Fiend, or Snake,
My courage earn'd it to awake
And manfully thereat shot.
With that sprang forth a naked Swain,
With spotted wings like peacocks train.
And laughing lope to a tree;
His gilden quiver at his back,
And silver bow which was but slack,
Which lightly he bent at me.
That seeing, I level'd again,
And shot at him with might and main,
As thick, as it had hailed.

So long I shot that all was spent,
Though pumy stones I hastily hent,
And threw; but naught availed.
He was so nimble and so wight,
From bough to bough he leaped light,
And oft the pumies latched.
Therewith afraid, I ran away;
But he, that earst seem'd but to play
A shaft in earnest snatched,
And hit me running, in the heel;
But then I little smart did feel,
But soon it sore increased.
And now it rankleth more and more,
And inwardly it festereth sore.

He wote I how to cease it.

(Willy.) Thomalin, I pity thy plight,
Perdy with Love thou didest fight
I knew him by a token.

For once I heard my father say
How he him caught upon a day
(Whereof he will be wroken,)
Entangled in a fowling net,
Which he for carrion crows had set
That in our pear-tree haunted:
Though said, he was a winged lad,
But bow and shafts as then none had;
Else had he sore be daunted.

Shepherd's Calendar-Spenser.

DCCCXXVII.

The Reason of things lies in a narrow compass, if the mind could at any time be so happy as to light upon it. Most of the writings and discourses in the world are but illustration and rhetoric, which signifies as much as nothing to a mind in pursuit after the philosophical truth of things.-South.

DCCCXXVIII.

There is but one way to Heaven, for the learned and the unlearned.-Bishop Taylor.

DCCCXXIX.

Some are born

With base impediments to rise,
And some are born with none.
But Virtue can itself advance

To what the favourite fools of chance
By fortune seem'd design'd,

Virtue can gain the odds of fate,
And from itself shake off the weight

Upon th' unworthy mind.

DCCCXXX.

Not inspiration can obtain

Parnell.

That Fame, which poets languish for in vain.

How mad their aim, who thirst for glory, strive
To grasp, what no man can possess alive!
Fame's a reversion in which men take place
(0 late reversion!) at their own decease
This truth sagacious Lintot* knows so well,
He starves his authors, that their works may sell.
Young,

DCCCXXXI.

Diversions are the most properly applied, to ease and relieve those who are oppressed, by being too much employed. Those that are idle have no need of them, and yet they, above all others, give themselves up to them. To unbend our thoughts, when they are too much stretched by our cares, is not more natural than it is necessary; but to turn our whole life into a holy-day, is not only ridicu lous, but destroyeth pleasure instead of promoting it.— Saville.

DCCCXXXII.

With the year

Seasons return, but not to me returns

Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud instead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
Presented with a universal blank

Of nature's works, to me expung'd and ras'd,
And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.
So much the rather thou, celestial light,

Shine inward, and the mind through all her power
Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from thence
Purge and disperse.

DCCCXXXIII.

Milton.

A widow and a government are ready upon all occastons, to tax the new husband and the new prince with the merits of their predecessors, unless the former hus

The Bookseller.

band was hang'd and the former king sent to grass; and then they bid them take fair warning by their destiny.Tom Brown.

DCCCXXXIV.

Within the brain's most secret cells,
A certain Lord chief justice dwells
Of sov'reign pow'r, whom one and all,
With common voice we Reason call.

DCCCXXXV.

Churchill.

How long must women wish in vain
A constant Love to find?

No art can fickle man retain,

Or fix a roving mind.

Yet fondly we ourselves deceive

And empty hopes pursue;

Though false to others, we believe

They will to us prove true.

DCCCXXXVI.

Shadwell.

It might well seem strange, if any man should write a book, to prove, that an egg is not an elephant, and that a musket-bullet is not a pike: it is every whit as hard a case, to be put to maintain, by a long discourse, that what we see, and handle, and taste to be bread, is bread, and not the body of a man; and what we see and taste to be wine, is wine, and not blood: and if this evidence may not pass for sufficient, without any farther proof, I do not see why any man, that hath confidence enough to do so, may not deny any thing to be what all the world sees it is; or affirm any thing to be what all the world sees it is not: and this without all possibility of being farther confuted. So that the business of Transubstantiation is not a controversy of scripture against scripture, or of reason against reason, but of downright impudence against the plain meaning of scripture, and all the sense and reason of mankind.-Tillotson.

DCCCXXXVII.

Spirit alone is too powerful for use. It will produce

madness rather than merriment; and instead of quenching thirst will inflame the blood. Thus Wit, too copiously poured out, agitates the hearer with emotions rather violent than pleasing: every one shrinks from the force of its oppression: the company sits entranced and overpowered; all are astonished, but nobody is pleased. Johnson.

DCCCXXXVIII.

Life makes the soul dependent on the dust;

Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres.
Through chinks, styl'd organs, dim life peeps at light;
Death bursts th' involving cloud, and all is day;
All eye, all ear, the disembody'd power.
Death has feign'd evils, nature shall not feel;
Life, ills substantial, wisdom cannot shun.
Is not the mighty mind, that son of heaven!
By tyrant life dethron'd, imprison'd, pain'd?
By death enlarg'd ennobled, deify'd?
Death but intombs the body; life the soul.

DCCCXXXIX.

Young.

Oh! just and mighty Death! What none have dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world have flattered, thou alone hast cast out of the world, and despised, thou hast drawn together all the far-fetched greatness, all the cruelty and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words, Hic jacet.-Sir W. Raleigh-on the Monuments of Princes.

DCCCXL.

(Adam to Eve) Sole partner, and sole part of all these joys,

Dearer thyself than all: needs must the Power
That made us, and for us this ample world,

Be infinitely good, and of his good

As liberal and free as infinite;

That rais'd us from the dust, and placed us here

In all this happiness, who at his hand

Have nothing merited, nor can perform
Aught whereof he hath need, he who requires
From us no other service than to keep.