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His plongh and harness by his side.-Spenser.

Observe the daily circle of the sun,
And the short year of each revolving moon.
When first the moon appears, if then she shrouds
Her silver crescent, tipp'd with sable clouds,
Conclude she bodes a tempest on the main,
And brews, for fields, impetuous floods of rain.
Or, if her face with fiery flushing glow,
Expect the rattling winds aloft to blow.
Above the rest, the sun, who never lies,
Foretells the change of weather in the skies.
For, if he rise unwilling to his race,
Clouds on his brow, and spots upon his face,
Or if through mists, he shoots his sullen beams,
Frugal of light, in loose and straggling streams;
Suspect a drizzling day, with southern rain,
Fatal to fruits, and flocks, and promis'd grain.
But, more than all, the setting sun survey,
When down the steep of heaven he drives the day :
If dusky spots are varied on his brow,
And, streak'd with red, a troubled colour show,
What desp'rate madman, then, would venture o’er
The frith, or haul his cables from the shore ?-Georgicks.

Hail, Bishop Valentine! whose day this is ;

All the air is thy diocese,
And all the chirping choristers,
And other birds, are thy parishioners.

Thou marriest every year
The lyrick lark, and the grave whispering dove,
The sparrow that neglects his life for love,
The household bird, with the red stomacher ;
Thou mak'st the blackbird speed as soon,
As doth the goldfinch, or the halcyon ;
The husband cock looks out, and straight is sped,
And meets his wife, which brings her feather-bed.—Donne.

And such is buman life ; so gliding on,
It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone!

The WORLD, wherein we play, is but a stage,
And all the men and women merely players :
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms :
Then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school : and then, the lover ;
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eye-brow : then, a soldier ;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth : and then, the justice ;
In fair round belly, with good capon lin’d,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances,
And so he plays his part: the sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipperd pantaloon ;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound : last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

Shakspeare. His plough and harness by his side.-Spenser.

Observe the daily circle of the sun,
And the short year of each revolving moon.
When first the moon appears, if then she shrouds
Her silver crescent, tipp'd with sable clouds,
Conclude she bodes a tempest on the main,
And brews, for fields, impetuous floods of rain.
Or, if her face with fiery flushing glow,
Expect the rattling winds aloft to blow.
Above the rest, the sun, who never lies,
Foretells the change of weather in the skies.
For, if he rise unwilling to his race,
Clouds on his brow, and spots upon his face,
Or if through mists, he shoots his sullen beams,
Frugal of light, in loose and straggling streams;
Suspect a drizzling day, with southern rain,
Fatal to fruits, and flocks, and promis'd grain.
But, more than all, the setting sun survey,
When down the steep of heaven he drives the day :
If dusky spots are varied on his brow,
And, streak'd with red, a troubled colour show,
What desp'rate madman, then, would venture o'er
The frith, or haul his cables from the shore ?-Georgicks.

Hail, Bishop Valentine! whose day this is ;

All the air is thy diocese,
And all the chirping choristers,
And other birds, are thy parishioners.

Thou marriest every year
The lyrick lark, and the grave whispering dove,
The sparrow that neglects his life for love,
The household bird, with the red stomacher ;
Thou mak'st the blackbird speed as soon,
As doth the goldfinch, or the halcyon ;
The husband cock looks out, and straight is sped,
And meets his wife, which brings her feather-bed.-Donne.
And such is human life ; so gliding on,
It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone !

The WORLD, wherein we play, is but a stage,
And all the men and women merely players :
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms :
Then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school : and then, the lover ;
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eye-brow : then, a soldier ;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth : and then, the justice ;
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances,
And so he plays his part : the sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipperd pantaloon ;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound : last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

Shakspeare.

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His plough and harness by his side. --Spenser.

OBSERVE the daily circle of the sun,
And the short year of each revolving moon.
When first the moon appears, if then she shrouds
Her silver crescent, tipp'd with sable clouds,
Conclude she bodes a tempest on the main,
And brews, for fields, impetuous floods of rain.
Or, if her face with fiery flushing glow,
Expect the rattling winds aloft to blow.
Above the rest, the sun, who never lies,
Foretells the change of weather in the skies.
For, if he rise unwilling to his race,
Clouds on his brow, and spots upon his face,
Or if through mists, he shoots his sullen beams,
Frugal of light, in loose and straggling streams;
Suspect a drizzling day, with southern rain,
Fatal to fruits, and flocks, and promis'd grain.
But, more than all, the setting sun survey,
When down the steep of heaven he drives the day :
If dusky spots are varied on his brow,
And, streak'd with red, a troubled colour show,
What desp'rate madman, then, would venture o'er
The frith, or haul his cables from the shore ?-Georgicks.

Hail, Bishop Valentine! whose day this is ;

All the air is thy diocese,
And all the chirping choristers,
And other birds, are thy parishioners.

Thou marriest every year
The lyrick lark, and the grave whispering dove,
The sparrow that neglects his life for love,
The household bird, with the red stomacher ;
Thou mak'st the blackbird speed as soon,
As doth the goldfinch, or the halcyon ;
The husband cock looks out, and straight is sped,
And meets his wife, which brings her feather-bed.-Donne.

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