« 이전계속 »
Suit the Iction to the Word and the Word to the
Printed by SHamiltwe, Weybridge, Sony
| Gives us free scope; only doth backward pollo (1. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. I Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.
SHAKSPEARE. | Impossible be strange attempts to those
That weigh their pain in sense, and do suppose. RE thou blest, Bertram ! and succeed thy What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove father
To show her merit, that did miss her love? In manners as in shape; thy blood and virtue Character of r noble Courtier, by an old Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
Cotemporary. Share with thy birth-right. Love all; trust a | King. I would I had that corporal soundness few ;
now, Do wrong to none; be able for thine enemy | As when thy father and myself in friendship Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend First tried our soldiership! He did look for Under thy own life's key; be check'd for si- / Into the service of the time, and was lence
Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long; But never tax'd for speech. What Heaven | But on us both did haggish age steal on, more will,
[down, | And wore us out of act. It much repairs me That thee way furnish, and my prayers pluck To talk of your good father. In his youth Fall on thy head!
He had the wit which I can well observe
To day in our young lords; but they may jest Too ambitious Love.
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, I am undone ; there is no living, none, Ere they can hide their levity in honor: If Bertram be away. It were all one,
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness That I should love a bright particular star, Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, And think to wed it, he is so above me! His equal had awak'd them; and his honor, In his bright radiance and collateral light Clock'to itself, knew the true minute when Must I be comforted, not in his sphere, Exception bid him speak; and at that time Th' ambition in my love thus plagues itself : His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below The hind that would be inated by the lion He us'd as creatures of another place, shim Must die for love. "Twas pretty tho' a plague, And bow'd his imminent top to their low ranks, To see him every hour; to sit and draw Making them proud of his humility, His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In their poor praise he humbled; such a man lo our heart's table: heart, too capable Might be a copy to these younger times, Of every line and trick of his sweet favor! | Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy But goers backward.
(now Must sanctify his relics.
Would I were with him !-He would always
sayA parasitical vain Coward.
(Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words I know him a notorious liar; | He scatter'd not in ears; but grafted them Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; I To grow there, and to bear). Let me not live' Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him,
--Thus his good melancholy oft began, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, Look bleak in the cold wind : withal, full oft / When it was out-'Let me not live,' quoth he, we see
• After my flame lacks oil; to be the snuff Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. l'Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
l'All but new things disdain ; whose judgeThe Remedy of Evils generally in ourselves.
[stancies Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, · Mere fathers of their garments; whose conWhich we ascribe to Heaven. The fatod sky Expire before their fashions'-This he wish'd
(From the Illustrated London News.)
What tribute shall we give the brave,
Who fight the glorious fight, :
Defenders of the right,
And vengeance they would wreak ?
The glory which they seek;
And pathways fresh with blooms;
Emblazoned on their tombs.
And what the tribute greater still
We owe the humbler brave,
Like sunlight on the wave,
And see, through clouds afar,
Of Duty's guiding star;
To save a brother's life,
Who in the stormy dark,
And whirl the helpless bark
Amid the fitful gale,
Or dying woman's wail,
Of wild waves tempest-trod,
Or sound of fife and drum;
Or hope of joys to come,
Or nerve their honest hands;
And at its high commands .
With calm, untroubled eye;
Ay, these, and something more
And tribute from their store;
'Twould beggar gold to pay,
High gleaming to the day;
Wño, mid the foam and swell,
When pitying sighs are borne,
And widows left forlorn.
And heal the wounded heart,
Let England do its part.
May light their household fires;
To imitate their sires.