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All unbought champions in no princely cause

Of vice-entail'd Corruption; they no land
Doom'd to bewail the blasphemy of laws

Making king's rights divine, by some Draconic clause.
Childe Harold-Canto 3, Stanza 63.

BYRON.

MUCH at HOME.

186. O, that men should put an enemy in their mouths, to steal

away their brains.

Othello-Act 2, Sc. 3.

MAKE an ENEMY.

SHAKSPEARE.

187. Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep;

And in his simple show he harbors treason.

The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.

King Henry 6th, Second Part-Act 3, Sc. 1. SHAKSPEARE.

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That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain. Hamlet-Act 1, Sc. 5.

SHAKSPEARE.

An IDOL.

190. Energy of will is the soul of the intellect; wherever it is, there is life; where it is not, all is dullness, and despondency, and desolation. It is the great principle, the spring that sets the whole machinery in movement; the antagonist of Time, acted upon by him as a wheel is by a stream, only to be set at work, and so to achieve great ends, where the feebleness of an ordinary mind would have been swept away and carried downwards to perdition. In morals and in intellect, nothing is impossible to it. This energy of purpose, is the one great talent; other powers there are, but their office is chiefly to regulate our progression, or at most to accelerate it. Self-formation. CAPEL LOFT.

191. And such they are-and such they will be found. Not so Leonidas and Washington,

Whose every battle-field is holy ground,

Which breathes of nations saved, not worlds undone.
How sweetly on the ear such echoes sound!

While the mere victors may appall or stun
The servile and the vain, such names will be
A watchword till the future shall be free.

BYRON.

192.

-What I most prize in woman

Is her affections, not her intellect !
The intellect is finite; but the affections
Are infinite, and cannot be exhausted.
Compare me with the great men of the earth;
What am I? Why, a pigmy among giants!
But if thou lovest,-mark me! I say lovest,—
The greatest of thy sex excels thee not!
The world of the affections is thy world,
Not that of man's ambition. In that stillness
Which most becomes a woman, calm and holy,
Thou sittest by the fireside of the heart,
Feeding its flame.

The Spanish Student.

LONGFELLOW.

193. An idler is a watch that wants both hands; As useless if it goes as when it stands. Retirement.

Bolingbroke; afterwards King Henry 4th.
194. Myself-a prince, by fortune of my birth;
Near to the king in blood, and near in love;
Till you did make him misinterpret me.-
Have stooped my neck under your injuries,
And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment :
Whilst you have fed upon my signiories,

COWPER.

Disparked my parks, and felled my forest woods;
From my own windows torn my household coat,
Razed out my impress, leaving me no sign,-
Save men's opinions, and my living blood,-
To show the world I am a gentleman.
King Richard 2nd-Act 3, Sc. 1.

A WITTY COMEDY.

SHAKSPEARE

195. Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary : Then fiery expedition be my wing.

King Richard 3rd-Act 4, Sc. 3.

A NARROW ROOM.

SHAKSPEARE.

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Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them, By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. King Richard 2nd-Act 2, Sc. 2.

A WEIGHTY CANNON.

SHAKSPEARE

198. We should be pleased that things are so,

Who do for nothing see the show.

The Spleen.

199. Within this awful volume lies
The mystery of mysteries,-
Happiest they of human race,
To whom their God has given grace
To read, to hear, to hope, to pray,
To lift the latch-to force the way;
And better they had ne'er been born,
Than read to doubt or read to scorn.
Written in the blank leaf of a Bible.

GREEN

BYRON.

200. My task is done-my song hath ceased-my theme
Has died into an echo; it is fit

The spell should break of this protracted dream.
The torch shall be extinguish'd which hath lit
My midnight lamp-and what is writ, is writ,--
Would it were worthier! but I am not now
That which I have been-and my visions flit
Less palpably before me-and the glow

Which in my spirit dwelt, is fluttering, faint, and low.

Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been-
A sound which makes us linger;-yet-farewell!
Ye! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene
Which is his last, if in your memories dwell
A thought which once was his, if on ye swell
A single recollection, not in vain

He wore his sandal-shoon, and scallop-shell;
Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain,
If such there were-with you, the moral of his strain.
Childe Harold-Canto 4, Stanza 185.

ARTFUL

BYRON.

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