WIFE.

You are my true and honourable wife;
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
That visit my sad heart.

499

SHAKSPEARE.

Such duty as the subject owes the prince.
Even such a womar oweth to her husband:
And when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
What is she but a foul, contending rebel,
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?

She who ne'er answers till a husband cools,
And, if she rules him, never shows she rules;
Charms by accepting, by submitting sways,
Yet has her humour most when she obeys.

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife,
He would have written sonnets all his life?

SHAKSPEARE.

POPE

BYRON'S Don Juan.

When envy's sneer would coldly blight his name,
And busy tongues are sporting with his fame,
Who solves each doubt, clears every mist away,
And makes him radiant in the face of day?
She, who would peril fortune, fame, and life,
For man, the ingrate — the devoted wife.

To share existence with her, and to gain

Sparks from her love's electrifying chain.

When on thy bosom I recline,
Enraptur'd still to call thee mine,

To call thee mine for life,

I glory in the sacred ties,

Which modern wits and fools despise,

Of husband and of wife.

CAMPBELL.

LINDI EY MURRAY.

500

WINE-WINTER, &c.

Say, shall I love the fading beauty less,

Whose spring-time radiance has been wholly mine?
No- come what will, thy steadfast truth I'll bless,

So wither'd and so wild in their attire,

That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,

And yet are on't.

SHAKSPEARE.

How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags?
What is 't you do?

Ye spirits of the unbounded universe!

SHAKSPEARE.

Whom I have sought in darkness and in shade,-
Ye, who do compass earth about, and dwell

In subtler essence

ye, to whom the tops

Of mountains inaccessible are haunts,

And earth's and ocean's caves familiar things-
I call upon ye, by the written charm

Which gives me power upon you

-

rise! appear!

BYRON'S Manfred

WOMAN.

WOMAN.

For several virtues

I have liked several women; never any

With so full a soul, but some defect in her
Dil quarrel with the noblest grace she own'd,
And put it to a foil.

601

SHAKSPEARS.

We cannot fight for love, as men may do ;

We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo.

SHAKSPEARE.

I have no other but a woman's reason;
I think him so, because I think him so.

SHAKSPEARE.

For women first were made for men,
Not men for them. It follows, then,
Men have a right to every one,
And they no freedom of their own;
And therefore men have power to choose,
But they no charter to refuse.

BUTLER'S Hudibras.

In men we various ruling passions find;
In women, two almost divide the kind:
Those only fix'd, they first or last obey,
The love of pleasure, and the love of sway.

POPE'S Moral Essays

When love once pleads admission to our hearts,
In spite of all the virtue we can boast,
The woman that deliberates is lost.

ADDISON'S Cato.

Seek to be good, but aim not to be great:
A woman's noblest station is retreat;
Her fairest virtues fly from public sight,
Domestic worth, that shuns too strong a light.

LORD LYTTLETON

I sue, and sue in vain; it is most just:

When women sue, they sue to be denied.

Fee-simple and a simple fee,

And all the fees in tail,

Are nothing when compar'd to thee,

Thou best of fees-fe-male.

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turn'd,
And hell no fury like a woman scorn'd.

O woman, lovely woman!

YOUNG

CONGREVE'S Mourning Bride.
Nature made thee

To temper man: we had been brutes without thee!
OTWAYS's Venice Preserved.
O woman! dear woman! whose form and whose soul
Are the light and the life of each spell we pursue,—
Whether sunn'd in the tropics, or chill'd at the pole,
If woman be there, there is happiness too!

Oh, say not woman's false as fair,

That, like the bee, she ranges,

Still seeking flowers more sweet and fair,

As fickle fancy changes.

Ah, no! the love, that first can warm,

Will leave her bosom never;

MOORE.

No second passion e'er can charm

She loves, and loves for ever.

Pocock.

Woman! blest partner of our joys and woes!
Even in the darkest hour of earthly ill,

Untarnish'd yet thy fond affection glows,

Throbs with each pulse, and beats with every thrill!
When sorrow rends the heart, when feverish pain
Wrings the hot drops of anguish from the brow,

To soothe the soul, to cool the burning brain,
Oh! who so welcome and so prompt as thou?

YAMOYDEN.

WOMAN.

The lords of creation men we call,
And they think they rule the whole:
But they're much mistaken, after all,

For they're under woman's control.

Woman's love,

Its fondness wide as the limitless wave,
And chainless by aught but the silent grave,
With devotion as humble as that which brings
To his idols the Indian's offerings,

Yet proud as that which the priestess feels,

603

When she nurses the flame of the shrine where she kneels

MRS. E. C. EMBURY

I would as soon attempt to entice a star
To perch upon my finger; or the wind
To follow me like a dog — as think to keep
A woman's heart again.

Away, away - you're all the same,

A fluttering, smiling, jilting throng!
Oh! by my soul, I burn with shame,
To think I've been your slave so long!

Oh! woman wrong'd can cherish hate
More deep and dark than manhood

Hath left revenge its chosen way,

BAILEY'S Festus

may,

MOORE.

But when the mockery of fate

Still lingers something of the spell

Still, 'mid the vengeful fires of hell,

Some flowers of old affection blossom.

J. G WHITTIER.

Which bound her to the traitor's bosom,

Oh woman! subtle, lovely, faithless sex!
Born to enchant, thou studiest to perplex;
Ador'à as queen, thou play'st the tyrant's part.
And, taught to govern, would'st enslave the heart!

R. T PAINE