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Wounds by the wider wounds are heal'd,
And poisons by themselves expell'd.
Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms
Th' ingredients of health and long life are
Easy labour, little care.
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.
The surest road to health, say what they will,
Is never to suppose we shall be ill ;
Most of those evils we poor mortals know,
Nor love, nor honour, wealth, nor power,
Next Gout appears, with limping pace,
DISEASE-HEALTH - PHYSICIAN.
That dire disease, whose ruthless power
Withers the beauty's transient flower.
Fever and pain, and pale, consumptive care.
The power of words, and soothing sounds, appease
And then the sigh, he would suppress,
More slowly drawn, grew less and less.
BYRON'S Prisoner of Chillon.
A cheek, whose bloom
Was as a mockery of the tomb,
Whose tints as gently sunk away
As a departing rainbow's ray.
BYRON's Prisoner of Chillon.
Sickness sits cavern'd in his hollow eye.
Oh! there is sweetness in the mountain air,
And life, which bloated ease may never hope to share.
BYRON'S Childe Harold.
This is the way physicians mend or end us,
Secundem artem :-but although we sneer
BYRON'S Don Juan. eye,
Hers was a beauty that made sad the
The shape so finely, delicately frail,
As form'd for climes unruffled by a gale;
The lustrous eye, through which look'd forth the soul,
With which Death steals his bride into his arms.
The Now Timon
DISHONESTY - ROGUES - THIEVES.
Along her cheek the deep'ning red
J. G. WHITTIER.
DISHONESTY-ROGUES - THIEVES.
Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes,
Thieves for their robbery have authority,
I'll example you with thievery : The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea; the moun 's an arrant thief, And her pale face she snatches from the sun; The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears; the carth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement; each thing's a thief.
Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that;
Lands, mortgag'd, may return, and more esteem'd;
The man who pauses in his honesty
Rogues as they were, themselves they would not rob-
And, though they'd thank the public for a job,
If she do frown, 't is not in hate of you-
If she do chide, 't is not to have you gone.
O! why rebuke you him, who loves you so?
Go, speak not to me; even now begone!
anger shall remain, but peace assur'd, And reconcilement.
Do not blast my springing hopes,
"Tis then the mind, from bondage free,
And all its former weakness o'er,
Asserts its native dignity,
And scorns what folly priz'd before.
And to be wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness in the brain.
O, where are the bright-beaming glances I miss!
DISPOSITION - DISSENSION-DISTANCE.
Farewell! the tie is broken—thou,
Cast my heart's gold into the furnace flame,
N. P. WILLIS
MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY
Alas! how light a cause may move
A something light as air-a look-
Oh! love, that tempest never shook,
A breath, a touch like this, hath shaken.
Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,