DISEASE-HEALTH-PHYSICIAN.

Wounds by the wider wounds are heal'd,

And poisons by themselves expell'd.

All maladies,

BUTLER'S Hudibras

Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms
Of heartsick agony; all feverish kinds;
Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs;
Intestine stone and ulcers: cholic pangs,
Demoniac phrensy, moping melancholy,
And moonstruck madness; pining atrophy,
Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence:
Dropsies, and asthmas, and joint-racking rheums.

Th' ingredients of health and long life are
Great temperance, open air,

Easy labour, little care.

MILTON.

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,
From doctors and imagination flow.

Nor love, nor honour, wealth, nor power,
Can give the heart a cheerful hour,
When health is lost. Be timely wise;
With health all taste of pleasure flies.

Next Gout appears, with limping pace,
Which often shifts from place to place :
From head to foot how swift he flies,
And ev'ry joint and sinew plies;
Still working, when he seems supprest,
A most tenacious, stubborn guest.

CHURCHILL

190

GAY's Fables.

GAY's Fables.

200

DISEASE-HEALTH - PHYSICIAN.

That dire disease, whose ruthless power

Withers the beauty's transient flower.

Fever and pain, and pale, consumptive care.

GOLDSMITHI.

GOLDSMITH,

The power of words, and soothing sounds, appease
The raging pain, and lessen the disease.

And then the sigh, he would suppress,
Of fainting nature's feebleness,

More slowly drawn, grew less and less.

FRANCIS' Horace

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.

BYRON.

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
In health-when sick, we call them to attend us,
Without the least propensity to jeer.

BYRON'S Don Juan. eye,

Hers was a beauty that made sad the
Bright, but fast fading, like a twilight sky:

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,
Bright and more brightly as it near'd the goal;
The waning beauty, the funereal charms,

With which Death steals his bride into his arms.

The Now Timon

DISHONESTY - ROGUES - THIEVES.

Along her cheek the deep'ning red
Told where the fev'rish hectic fed;
And yet each token gave
To the mild beauty of her face,
A newer and a dearer grace,
Unwarning of the grave.

201

J. G. WHITTIER.

DISHONESTY-ROGUES - THIEVES.

Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes,
Is to be one pick'd out of ten thousand.

Thieves for their robbery have authority,
When judges steal themselves.

SHAKSPEARE.

SHAKSPEARE.

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.

SHAKSPEARE.

Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that;
You take my house, when you do take the prop
That doth sustain my house: you take my life,
When you do take the means whereby I live.

SHAKSPEARE

Lands, mortgag'd, may return, and more esteem'd;
But honesty once pawn'd is ne'er redeem'd.

The man who pauses in his honesty
Wants little of the villain.

MIDDLETON

MARTYN

Rogues as they were, themselves they would not rob-
Vice in the heart some virtue always leaves-

And, though they'd thank the public for a job,
They, 'mongst themselves, were honourable thieves!
J. T. WATSON

DISPLEASURE.

If she do frown, 't is not in hate of you-
But rather to beget more love in you.

If she do chide, 't is not to have you gone.

SHAKSPEARE,

O! why rebuke you him, who loves you so?
Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

SHAKSPEARE.

Go, speak not to me; even now begone!

SHAKSPEARE.

No cloud

Of

anger shall remain, but peace assur'd, And reconcilement.

Do not blast my springing hopes,
That thy kind hand has planted in my soul.

"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.

MILTON.

ROWE.

CARTWRIGHT.

COLERIDGE'S Christubei

O, where are the bright-beaming glances I miss!

203

DISPOSITION - DISSENSION-DISTANCE.

Farewell! the tie is broken—thou,
With all thou wert to me, hast parted!

Cast my heart's gold into the furnace flame,
And, if it come not thence refin'd and pure,
I'll be a bankrupt to thy hope, and heaven
Shall shut its gates on me!

N. P. WILLIS

MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY

DISPOSITION.-(See CHARACTER.)

DISSENSION.

Alas! how light a cause may move
Dissension, between hearts that love!

A something light as air-a look-
A word unkind, or wrongly taken

Oh! love, that tempest never shook,

A breath, a touch like this, hath shaken.

MOORE

MOORE

DISTANCE.

Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And clothes the mountain in its azure hue.
CAMPBELL'S Pleasures of Hope.