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A magic mirror formed to shew,
F. P. H.
Milton. Where virtue borrowed the arms of chance, And struck a random blow.
Dryden. 0, Tyndal! there was once a time,
A pleasant time of old,
Before I lent thee gold;
But thee and I, my friend,
A social hour to spend.
Anon I see thee take
For his bounty,
O blessed bounty, giving all content!
grace that rests in the most godlike hearts, By heav'n to none but happy souls infus'd, Pity it is, that e'er thou wast abus'd. Drayton.
Denham. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send; He gave to misery all he had-a tear;He gain’d from Heaven—'twas all he wish'd—a friend!
Gray. Since trifles make the sum of human things, And half our misery from our foibles springs; Since life's best joys consist in peace and ease, And few can love or serve, but all may please; Oh, let the ungentle spirit learn from hence, A small unkindness is a great offence: Large bounties to bestow we wish in vain, But all may shun the guilt of giving pain.
Around the bowl the wanton ivy twines,
Pope, from Homer.
Dryden, from Virgil.
Thou sparkling bowl! thou sparkling bowl!
Though lips of bards thy brim may press, And eyes of beauty o'er thee roll,
And song and dance thy power confess, I will not touch thee, for there clings A serpent to thy side that stings. John Pierpont.
Woe to him whose every bliss
Centres in the burthened bowl!
Sin's sad burthen on the soul.
Murder, theft, and wantonness,
From the Welsh.
SPEAK thou boy!
The whining school-boy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like a snail Unwillingly to school.
They shall belie thy happy years, That say, thou art a man. Diana's lip Is not more smooth and rubrous; thy small pipe Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound, And all is semblative a woman's part. Shakspere.
Sometimes forgotten things long cast behind,
Happy the school-boy! did he know his bliss,
There's something in a noble boy,
A brave, free-hearted, careless one,
His dread of books and love of fun;
And unrepressed by sadness;
And felt its very gladness. N. P. Willis.
They smile at me—they laughing say,
When will you be a man-
You were when it began;
Their smiles and jests enjoy,
In heart I'm still a boy.
This gain from which I start?
Ah loss!-a colder heart;
But one if I enjoy,
W. C. Bennett.
BRAG-BRAGGART. SEE'st thou not yon thick hawthorn stud, How bragly it begins to bud?
Spenser. Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this; for it shall come to pass That every braggart shall be found an ass.
Shakspere. To who? to thee? What art thou? Have not I An arm as big as thine, a heart as big; Thy words, I grant, are bigger; for I wear not A dagger in my mouth.
Shakspere. A kind of conquest Cæsar made here; but made not here his brag, Of came, and saw, and overcame.
Shakspere. Shall I base slave, of high-born or raised men, Fear frowns; and my mistress, truth, betray thee To the hutting braggart, purst nobility. Donne. Beauty is nature's brag, and must be shewn At courts and feasts, and high solemnities, Where all may wonder.