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CURE. WHILE in the dark on thy soft hand I hung, And heard the tempting syren in thy tongue, What flames, what darts, what anquish I endured! But when the candle enter'd, I was cured.
From Martial. Repair thy wit good youth, or it will fall To cureless ruin.
For love of heaven with patience undergo
Hear what some love unpractised hearts endure
But man who knows no good unmixed and pure,
That they were blind because they saw no ill;
Davies. A veil obscured the sunshine of her eyes,
The rose within herself her sweetness closed;
Fairfax, from Tasso. The over curious are not overwise. Massinger.
I loathe that low vice curiosity.
Byron. The curious, questioning eye, That plucks the heart of every mystery.
CURSE. A PLAGUE upon them! wherefore should I curse them? Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, I would invent as bitter searching terms, As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, Delivered strongly through my fixed teeth, With full as many signs of deadly hate, As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave. My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words, Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint, Mine hair be fixed on end like one distractAy, ev'ry joint should seem to curse and ban, And even now my burdened heart would break, Should I not curse them.
A curse is like a cloud, it passes.
Cursed be the social wants
That sin against the strength of youth; Cursed be the social lies
That warp us from the living truth! Cursed be the sickly forms
That err from honest nature's rule; And cursed be the gold that gilds
The straightened forehead of a fool. Tennyson.
The Cardinal rose with a dignified look,
In holy anger and pious grief,
He cursed him living, he cursed him dying!
But, what gave rise
To no little surprise, Nobody seemed one penny the worse! R. Barham.
Custom in ills that do affect the sense,
Jonson. For custom will a strong impression leave: Hard bodies which the lightest stroke receive, In length of time will moulder and decay, And stones with drops of rain are washed away.
Dryden. Custom does often reason overrule, And only serves for reason to the fool. Rochester.
Custom forms us all; Our thoughts, our morals, our most fixed belief, Are consequences of our place of birth.—Aaron Hill.
Custom's the world's great idol we adore,
Custom that does still dispense
As if they feared the light.
Oh, 't is sweet!
Old Masque. A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell;
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
The father bore it with undaunted soul,
The age wherein he lived was dark; but he
No want of day, nor think it dark. Waller. Darkness! thou first great parent of us all!
Thou art our great original;
[come. Does all thou shad'st below thy numerous offspring Thy wondrous birth is ev'n to Time unknown,
Or like Eternity thou 'dst none;
Whilst light did its first being owe