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She never told her love ;
But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud,
Feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought,
And sat, like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.

I will believe
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know ;
And so far will I trust thee.

SHAKSPEARE. A secret in his mouth Is like a wild bird put into a cage, Whose door no sooner opens, but 't is out.

BEN Jonson. What torment 's equal to the grief of mind,

And pining anguish hid in gentle heart, That inly feeds itself with thought unkind, And nourishes its own consuming smart?

SPENSER's Fairy Queen. Search not to find what lies too deeply hid; Nor to know things whose knowledge is forbid.

DeniaM. I have a silent sorrow here,

A grief I'll ne'er impart ;
It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear,
Yet it consumes my heart.

SHERIDAN. And if she met him, tho' she smil'd no more,

She look'd a sadness sweeter than her smile,
As if her heart had deeper thoughts in store,
She must not own, but cherish'd more the while.

Byron's Don Juan.
In that corroding secresy, which gnaws
The heart to show the effect, but not the cause.

Byron's Lara

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And there were sighs, the deeper for suppression,

And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft,
And burning blushes, tho' for no transgression,
Tremblings when met, and restlessness when left.

Byron's Don Juan
I think that all the world are grown anonymous,
Since no one cares to tell us what he's call’d.

BYRON's Werner.
In many ways does the full heart reveal
The presence of the love it would conceal.



I know not why
I love this youth; and I have heard you say,
Love's reason's without reason.

I blush to think what I have said
But fate has wrested the confession from me ;-
Go on, and prosper in the paths of honour;
Thy virtue will excuse my passion for thee,
And make the gods propitious to our love.

Well did I mark the new-born passion grow,
Which my heart beat responsive at perceiving.

As letters some hand has invisibly trac’d,

When held to the flame, will steal out to the sight;
So, many a feeling that long seem'd effac'd,
The warmth of a meeting like this brings to light.

A light comes o’er me from those looks of love,
Like the first dawn of mercy from above.



I admit you are handsome,—but still, I should guess,

That others are handsome as you ;
I've heard you call’d charming,—but you must confess

That all things we hear are not true :
You think me the slave of your charms ;-I allow

That in graces but few are above you ;
Yet, charming and fair I see you,
That I cannot deny it-I love you !



I vow



Thy words convince me ; my

doubts are


Æschylus' Agamemnon. Be thou as just and gracious unto me, As I am confident and kind to thee.

SHAKSPEARE. Let mutual joy our mutual trust combine, And love, and love-born confidence, be thine !


Thou know'st how fearless is my trust in thee.

Miss L. E. LANDON. Amidst the dull cares that surround us in life,

In the moments of bliss that illumine our way,-
When the bosom is torn with contention and strife,

Or thrill’d with delight at the scenes we survey,-
Oh! blest is the man, who can freely repose
In the heart of a friend all his joys and his woes !



Whues treinbling horror did his conscience daunt,
And hellish anguish did his soul assail.




That as

A peace above all other dignities
A still and quiet conscience.

My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.

Oh! I have past a miserable night!
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,

am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 't were to buy a world of happy days!

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just;
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

Leave her to heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her.

Now conscience wakes despair,
That slumber’d; wakes the bitter memory
Of what he was, what is, and what must be
Worse, if worse deeds, worse sufferings must ensue.

Milton's Paradise Lost.
He that has light within his own clear breast,
May sit i' the centre, and enjoy bright day;
But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts,
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;
Himself is his own dungeon.

Milton's Coinu:



Why should not conscience have vacation,
As well as other courts o' the nation ?
Have equal power to adjourn,
Appoint appearance, and return?

BUTLER's Hudibras

'Tis ever thus
With noble minds; if chance they slide to folly,
Remorse stings deeper, and relentless conscience
Pours more of gall into the bitter cup
Of their severe repentance.

Here, here it lies; a lump of lead by day;
And in my short, distracted, nightly slumbers,
The hag that rides my dreams.

DRYDEX, One self-approving hour whole years outweighs Of stupid starers, and of loud huzzas, And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels, Than Cæsar with the Senate at his heels.

Pope's Essay on Mun. He's arm'd without, that's innocent within.

1'oPE Knowledge or wealth to few are given, But mark how just the ways of heaven:

True joy to all is free.
Nor wealth nor knowledge grant the boon,
'Tis thine, O Conscience! thine alone-
It all belongs to thee.

Oh conscience ! conscience! man's most faithful friend,
Him canst thou comfort, ease, relieve, defend;
But if he will thy friendly checks forego,
Thou art, Oh, woe for me! his deadliest fce!


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