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Ravish'd with joy, he wings his eager flight,
Nor dreams of ruin in so clear a light :
He !empts his fate, and courts a glorious doom,
A bi.ght destruction and a shining tomb.

So much the raging thirst for fame exceeds
The generous warmth which prompts to worthy deeds,
That none confess fair Virtue's genuine power,
Or woo her to their breasts without a dower.

GIFFORD's Juvenal.
But glory's glory; and if you would find
What that ismask the pig who sees the wind.

BYRON'S Don Juun.
Longings sublime and aspirations high.

Byron's Don Juan.
What millions died, that Cæsar might be great!

Press on! for it is godlike to unloose
The spirit, and forget yourself in thought;
Bending a pinion for the deeper sky,
And, in the very fetters of your flesh,
Mating with the pure essences of heaven.

Ambition is the germ,
From which all growth of nobleness proceeds.

In some, ambition is the chief concern;
For this they languish and for this they burn;
For this they smile, for this alone they sigh ;
For this they live, for this would freely die.

And man, the image of his God, is found,
Just for an empty name, an airy sound,
Spending the short remainder of his life
In brutal conflict, and in deadly strife :-
For 'l is a strife, disguise it as you may,
Keen as the warrior's in the battle day.



ANCESTRY — NOBILITY — TITLES, &c. True is that whilome that good poet said,

That gentle mind by gentle deed is known,
For man by nothing is so well bewray'd

As by his manners, in which plain is shown
Of what degree and what race he is grown

SPENSER's Fairy Queen.
Titles of honour add not to his worth,
Who is an honour to his title.

FORD. Man is a name of honour for a king; Additions take away from each chief thing.

CHAPMAN. A fool indeed has great need of a title ; It teaches men to call himn Count and Duke, And to forget his proper name of fool.

CROWN Titles, the servile courtier's lean reward, Sometimes the pay of virtue, but more oft The hire which greatness gives to slaves and sycophants.

Rowe. With their authors in oblivion sunk Vain titles lie; the servile badges oft Of mean submission, not the meed of worth.

THOMSON. Whoe'er amidst the sons Of reason, valour, liberty, and virtue, Displays distinguish'd merit, is a noble Of nature's own creating.

THOMSON Should vice expect to 'scape rebuke, Because its owner is a duke?



'Tis from high life high characters are drawn;
A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn;
A judge is just, a chancellor juster still;
A gown-man, learn'd ; a bishop what you will ;
Wise, if a minister; but if a king,
More wise, more learn’d, more just, more everything.

Many a Prince is worse,
Who, proud of pedigree, is poor of purse.

Pope's Moral Essays.
How poor are all hereditary honours,
Those poor possessions from another's deeds,
Unless our own just virtues form our title,
And give a sanction to our fond assumptions !

Boast not these titles of your ancestors,
Brave youths; they 're their possessions, not your own :
When your own virtues equall'd have their names,
'T will be but fair to lean upon their fames,
For they are strong supporters; but, till then
The greatest are but growing gentlemen.

Superior worth your rank requires ;
For that, mankind reveres your sires ;
If you degenerate from your race,
Their merit heightens your disgrace.

Gay's Falles
He stands for fame on his forefathers' feet,
By heraldry proved valiant or discreet!

E'en to the dullest peasant standing by,
Who fasten'd still on him a wandering eye,
He seem'd the master spirit oi the land.

Even to the delicacy of their hands
There was resemblance, such as true blood wears.

Byron's Don Juan. ANGER-TEMPER- RAGE.


* Your ancient house ?" No more : I cannot see 'The wondrous merits of a pedigree:

Nor of a proud display Of smoky ancestors in wax and clay.

GIFFORD'S Juvenuh What boots it on the lineal tree to trace, Through many a branch, the founders of our raceTime-honoured chiefs—if, in their right, we give A loose to vice, and like low villains live ?

Gifford's Juvenal Fond man! though all the honours of your line Bedeck your halls, and round your galleries shine In proud display, yet take this truth from ineVirtue alone is true nobility!

Gifford's Juvenal. How shall we call those noble, who disgrace Their lineage, proud of an illustrious race ? Who seek to shine by borrow'd lights alone, Nor with their fathers' glories blend their own?

Gifford's Juveniu. Whence his name And lineage long, it suits me not to say ; Suffice it that, perchance, they were of fame, And had been glorious in another day.

BYRON's Childe llar old


Full many mischiefs follow cruel wrath,

Abhorred bloodshed, and tumultuous strife,
Inmanly murder, and unthrifty scathe,

Bitter despite, with rancour's rusty knife,
And fretting grief—the enemy of life.

SPENSER's Fairy Quren.

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Madness and


differ but in this:
This is short madness, that long anger is.

My rage is not malicious; like a spark
Of fire by steel enforc'd out of a flint,
It is no sooner kindled, but extinct.

O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!
Then with a passion would I shake the world.

Anger is like
A full hot horse, who being allow'd his way,
Self-mettle tires him.

Come not between the dragon and his wrath.

SHAKSPEARE Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turn'd.

CONGREVE Those hearts that start at once into a blaze, And open all ineir rage,

like summer storms
At once discharg'd, grow cool again and calm.

When anger rushes unrestrain’d to action,
Like a hot steed it stumbles in its way:
The man of thougnt strikes deepest, and strikes safest.

Then flash'd the living lightning from her eyes,
And screams of horror rend the vaulted skies;
Not louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast,
When husbands, or when lap-dogs, breathe their last ;
Or when rich china vessels, fallen from high,
In glittering dust and painted fragments lie.

From loveless youth to unrespected age,
No passion gratified, except her rage.


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