FISH-FISHING. BLEST silent groves! O may ye be For ever pitch their tents Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains, And peace still slumber by these purling fountains, Which we may every year Find when we come a-fishing here.-Sir W. Raleigh. A day with not too bright a beam, We'll prove it just, with treacherous bait, Of meaner men the smaller fry.-Izaak Walton. The morning is beaming, On the crests of the clouds, with its beauty they glow; Those dark cliffs, and lighten The foam of the ocean-waves breaking below. When it comes they will get up, And o'er the wide sea steer their shallop away; Of fishing, or trawling In peril and hardship, the rest of the day. A perilous life, and sad as life may be, B. Barton. Procter. EVERY one that flatters thee, Shakspere. Ben Jonson. Of all wild beasts preserve me from a tyrant; Give me flattery, Flattery the food of courts, that I may rock him, And lull him in the down of his desires. Beaumont. Parent of wicked, bane of honest deeds, Beware of flatt'ry, 't is a flow'ry weed, Learn to win a lady's faith, Lead her from the festive boards, Prior. Fenton. E. B. Browning. FLOWERS. FLOWERS. Go, mark the matchless working of the Power In colour these, and those delight the smell; 301 Cowper. They bring me tales of youth, and tones of love; And 't is, and ever was, my wish and way To let all flowers live freely, and all die, Whene'er their genius bids their souls depart, Among their kindred in their native place. I never pluck the rose; the violet's head Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank, And not reproached me; the ever sacred cup Of the pure lily hath, between my hands, Felt safe, unsoil'd, nor lost one grain of gold. Walter S. Landor. In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, Then gather a wreath from the garden bowers, Percival. Flowers are love's truest language.—Park Benjamin. And then I love the field-flowers too, E'en to the poorest little one, That wanders 'neath the vault of heaven. The garden-flowers are reared for few, But flowers that spring by vale or stream, The flower ripens in its place, Ann Pratt. Ripens, and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Tennyson. 302 FOOL. FOOL-FOLLY. As I do live by food, I met a fool, He, whom a fool doth very wisely hit, This fellow's wise enough to play the fool, As the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker e'er it blow, Shakspere. Shakspere. Even so, by love, the young and tender wit Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Nothing exceeds in ridicule, no doubt, Shakspere. Pope. Though wrong the mode, comply: more sense is shown 'Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool, Young. Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die! Young. On Folly's lips eternal tattlings dwell; Wisdom speaks little, but that little well. So lengthening shades the sun's decline betray, But shorter shadows mark meridian day. Bishop. Folly, as it grows in years, Butler. FOOLS ne'er had less grace in a year, 303 Shakspere. Some positive, persisting fops we know, Nature made every fop to plague his brother, Fops take a world of pains To prove that bodies may exist sans brains; The former so fantastically dress'd, The latter's absence may be safely guess'd. Pope. Churchill. FORBEARANCE. TRUE nobleness would Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. Shakspere. I pray you tarry, pause a day or two, Shakspere. So angry wolves the combat do forbear, Forbearance is the lesson taught In deed and word, in act and thought, By that great Testament of love Who beareth and forbeareth not In deed and word, in act and thought? Anon. |