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I have a passion for ballads. are the gypsy children of song, born under green hedgerows in the leafy lanes and bypaths of literature, -in the genial Summertime.

LONGFELLOW-Hyperion. Bk. II. Ch. II. For a ballad's a thing you expect to find lies in.

SAMUEL LOVER-Paddy Blake's Echo. More solid things do not show the complexion of the times so well as Ballads and Libels. JOHN SELDONLibels. (Libels-pamphlets,

libellum, a small book.)

But what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.

TENNYSON-In Memoriam. Pt. LIV. St. 5. (See also BURTON, under BIRTH; CROUCH, under

Beat upon mine, little heart! beat, beat!
Beat upon mine! you are mine, my sweet!
All mine from your pretty blue eyes to your feet,

My sweet!
TENNYSONRomney's Remorse.




I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew!
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers.

Henry IV. Pt. I. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 129.



Baby smiled, mother wailed,
Earthward while the sweetling sailed;
Mother smiled, baby wailed,

When to earth came Viola.
FRANCIS THOMPSONThe Making of Viola.

St. 9.

I love a ballad but even too well; if it be doleful matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed, and sung lamentably.

Winter's Tale. Act IV. Sc. 4. L. 187.



A famous man is Robin Hood,
The English ballad-singer's joy.

WORDSWORTH-Rob Roy's Grave.

A babe in a house is a well-spring of pleasure.

TUPPER-Of Education.



Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber,

Holy angels guard thy bed! Heavenly blessings without number

Gently falling on thy head.
WATTS-A Cradle Hymn.

BANISHMENT The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide; They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and

slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.

MILTONParadise Lost. Bk. XII. L. 646.

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BALLADS I've now got the music book ready, Do sit up and sing like a lady A recitative from Tancredi, And something about “Palpiti!” Sing forte when first you begin it, Piano the very next minute, They'll cry “What expression there's in it!" Don't sing English ballads to me! THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY-Don't Sing English Ballads to Me.

Had we no other quarrel else to Rome, but that
Thou art thence banish’d, we would muster all
From twelve to seventy; and pouring war
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,
Like a bold flood o'erbear.

Coriolanus. Act IV. Sc. 5. L. 133.



No, my good lord: banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company: banish plump Jack and banish all the world.

Henry IV. Pt. I. Act II. Sc. 4. L. 520.

The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair

(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) And I met with a ballad, I can't say where,

That wholly consisted of lines like these. CHARLES S. CALVERLYBallad.



Thespis, the first professor of our art,
At country wakes sung ballads from a cart.

DRYDEN-Prologue to Sophonisba.

Have stooped my neck under your injuries
And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment.

Richard II. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 19.


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Banished? O friar, the damned use that word in hell; Howlings attend it: How bast thou the heart,

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Those matted woods where birds forget to sing. But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling.

GOLDSMITHThe Deserted Village. L. 345.


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Thy boist'rous locks, no worthy match
For valour to assail, nor by the sword
But by the barber's razor best subdued.

MILTON-Samson Agonistes. L. 1,167.

The first (barbers) that entered Italy came out of Sicily and it was in the 454 yeare after the foundation of Rome. Brought in they were by P. Ticinius Mena as Verra doth report for before that time they never cut their hair. The first that was shaven every day was Scipio Africanus, and after him cometh Augustus the Emperor who evermore used the rasor. PLINY—Natural History. Bk. VII. Ch. LIX.

HOLLAND's trans.

On the bat's back I do fly
After summer merrily.

Tempest. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 91.

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Whose beard they have sing'd off with brands

of fire; And ever, as it blaz’d, they threw on him Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair: My master preaches patience to him and the

while His man with scissors nicks him like a fool.

Comedy of Errors. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 171.

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And his chin new reap'd, Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home.

Henry IV. Pt. I. Act I. Sc. 3. L. 34.

What is lovely never dies, But passes into other loveliness, Star-dust, or sea-foam, flower or winged air.

T. B. ALDRICH-A Shadow of the Night.

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I must not say that she was true,

Yet let me say that she was fair; And they, that lovely face who view,

They should not ask if truth be there. MATTHEW ARNOLDEuphrosyne.


The barber's man hath been seen with him, and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis-balls. Much Ado About Nothing. Act III. Sc. 2.

L. 45.
A Fellow in a market town.
Most musical, cried Razors up and down.

John WolcotFarewell Odes. Ode 3.

The beautiful are never desolate;
But some one alway loves them God or man.
If man abandons, God himself takes them.
BAILEY-Festus. Sc. Water and Wood Mid-

night. L. 370.


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There's nothing that allays an angry mind
So soon as a sweet beauty.

Act III. Sc. 5.
Ye Gods! but she is wondrous fair!

For me her constant flame appears; The garland she hath culled, I wear

On brows bald since my thirty years. Ye veils that deck my loved one rare,

Fall, for the crowning triumph's nigh.
Ye Gods! but she is wondrous fair!

And I, so plain a man am I!
BERANGER—Qu'elle est jolie. Translated by


Exceeding fair she was not; and yet fair
In that she never studied to be fairer
Than Nature made her; beauty cost her nothing,
Her virtues were so rare.

GEORGE CHAPMAN-AU Fools. Act I. Sc. 1.


I pour

into the world the eternal streams Wan prophets tent beside, and dream their

dreams. JOHN VANCE CHENEYBeauty.



The beautiful seems right By force of beauty, and the feeble wrong Because of weakness.

E. B. BROWNING—Aurora Leigh. Bk. I.


She is not fair to outward view

As many maidens be;
Her loveliness I never knew

Until she smiled on me:
Oh! then I saw her eye was bright,
A well of love, a spring of light.


The essence of all beauty, I call love,
The attribute, the evidence, and end,
The consummation to the inward sense
Of beauty apprehended from without,
I still call love.

E. B. BROWNING—Sword Glare.



And behold there was a very stately palace before him, the name of which was Beautiful.

BUNYAN—-Pilgrim's Progress. Pt. I.


Who doth not feel, until his failing sight
Faints into dimness with its own delight,
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess,
The might—the majesty of Loveliness?

BYRON—Bride of Abydos. Canto I. St. 6.

Her gentle limbs did she undress,
And lay down in her loveliness.

COLERIDGE—Christabel. Pt. I. St. 24.

17 Beauty is the lover's gift. CONGREVEThe Way of the World. Act II.

Sc. 2. 18 The ladies of St. James's!

They're painted to the eyes; Their white it stays for ever,

Their red it never dies; But Phyllida, my Phyllida!

Her colour comes and goes;
It trembles to a lily,—

It wavers to a rose.
AUSTIN DOBSON—At the Sign of the Lyre.

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Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow
Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth;
Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow,
Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth,
Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow,
As if her veins ran lightning.

BYRON-Don Juan. Canto I. St. 61.


She, though in full-blown flower of glorious

beauty, Grows cold, even in the summer of her age.

DRYDEN-@dipus. Act IV. Sc. 1.



A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded, A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.

BYRONDon Juan. Canto XV. St. 43.


She walks in beauty like the night
Of cloudless chimes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

BYRON—She Walks in Beauty.

Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky,
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for see-

Then beauty is its own excuse for being.

EMERSONThe Rhodora. 23

The beautiful rests on the foundations of the necessary.

EMERSON-Essay. On the Poet.

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