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What's one man's poison, signor,
Let it be tenable in your silence still.
Give it an understanding, but no tongue.
Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 2.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice ;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgNot chaos-like together crushed and bruised,
Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 3.
And oftentimes excusing of a fault
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse,
Doth make the fa
As patches, set upon a little breach,
Than did the fault before it was so patched.
King Fohn, Act iv. Sc. 2.
SHAKESPEARE. 0, shame to men ! devil with devil damned Firm concord holds, men only disagree
MODERATION. Of creatures rational.
Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, Paradise Lost, Book ii.
Lie in three words, - health, peace, and compe
But health consists with temperance alone, TRIFLES.
And peace, O Virtue ! peace is all thine own. Think naught a trifle, though it small appear; 1 Essay on Man, Epistle IV.
POPE. Small sands the mountain, moments make the
These violent delights have violent ends, And trifles life.
And in their triumph die ; like fire and powder, Love of Fame, Satire vi.
DR. E. YOUNG.
Which as they kiss consume.
Pretty! in amber to observe the forms
Therefore love moderately ; long love doth so; Of hair, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms ! Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, Romeo and Juliet, Act ii. Sc. 6.
SHAKESPEARE. But wonder how the devil they got there!
They surfeited with honey; and began
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little What dire offence from amorous causes springs,
More than a little is by much too much.
King Henry IV., Part I. Act iii. Sc. 2. SHAKESPEARE. What mighty contests rise from trivial things. The Rape of the Lock, Cant. i.
РОРЕ. He that holds fast the golden mean,
And lives contentedly between A little fire is quickly trodden out,
The little and the great,
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor,
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door.
God in externals could not place content.
IDLENESS AND ENNUI. At length from us may find, who overcomes
| 'Tis the voice of the sluggard ; I heard him By force hath overcome but half his foe.
complain, Paradise Lost, Book i.
“You have waked me too soon, I must slumber
DR. I. WATTS.
A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.
To sigh, yet feel no pain,
NIGHT AND SLEEP. To weep, yet scarce know why;
Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep! To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,
He, like the world, his ready visit pays Then throw it idly by.
Where fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes : The Blue Stocking.
Swift on his downy pinions flies from woe, The keenest pangs the wretched find
And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.
DR. E. YOUNG. Are rapture to the dreary void,
Night Thoughts, Night i.
Thou hast been called, 0 sleep! the friend of
woe ; The Giaour.
But 't is the happy that have called thee so. Their only labor was to kill the time
Curse of Kehama, Cant. xv.
R. SOUTHEY. (And labor dire it is, and weary woe); They sit, they loll, turn o’er some idle rhyme ; | She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down, Then, rising sudden, to the glass they go,
And rest your gentle head upon her lap, Or saunter forth, with tottering step and slow :
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you, This soon too rude an exercise they find ; And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep, Straight on the couch their limbs again they | Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness ; throw,
Making such difference betwixt wake and sleep Where hours on hours they sighing lie reclined,
As is the difference betwixt day and night, And court the vapory god, soft breathing in the
The hour before the heavenly-harnessed team wind.
Begins his golden progress in the east.
Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth HANG SORROW!
Finds the down pillow hard. And this the burden of his song forever used Cymbeline, Act iii. Sc. 6.
to be, I care for nobody, no not I, if nobody cares for Care-charming sleep, thou easer of all woes,
Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose Love in a Village, Act i. Sc. 2.
I. BICKERSTAFF. On this afflicted prince ; fall like a cloud
In gentle showers ; . . . sing his pain Without the door let sorrow lie;
Like hollow murmuring wind or silver rain. And if for cold it hap to die,
BEAUMONT and FLETCHER. We'll bury't in a Christmas pie, And evermore be merry.
Midnight brought on the dusky hour
Friendliest to sleep and silence. And Jack shall pipe, and Gill shall dance,
Paradise Lost, Book v. And all the town be merry.
And the night shall be filled with music, For Christmas comes but once a year,
And the cares that infest the day And then they shall be merry.
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
The Day is Done.
To all, to each, a fair good-night,
And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light!
The very fones in which we Snake
blad something strange I could but martes
Solenny H. Longfellow POEMS OF FANCY.
Whose candid bosom the refining love
And spread thy purple wings,
And various shapes of things ;
To all the senses here,
EVER let the Fancy roam,
DELIGHTS OF FANCY.
FROM "THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION." As Memnon's marble harp renowned of old By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string Consenting, sounded through the warbling air Unbidden strains ; e'en so did Nature's hand To certain species of external things Attune the finer organs of the mind; So the glad impulse of congenial powers, Or of sweet sound, or fair-proportioned form, The grace of motion, or the bloom of light, Thrills through imagination's tender frame, From nerve to nerve ; all naked and alive They catch the spreading rays; till now the soul At length discloses every tuneful spring, To that harmonious movement from without, Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain Diffuses its enchantment; Fancy dreams Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves, And vales of bliss ; the Intellectual Power Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear, And smiles ; the passions gently soothed away, Sink to divine repose, and love and joy Alone are waking ; love and joy serene As airs that fan the summer. O attend, Whoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch,
O sweet Fancy ! let her loose ;