Ah! many hearts have changed since we two Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
And many grown apart, as time hath sped- Till we have almost deem'd that the true-hearted Abided only with the faithful dead.
And some we trusted with a fond believing, Have turn'd and stung us to the bosom's core; And life hath seem'd but as a vain deceiving From which we turn aside heart-sick and sore. Mrs. C. M. Chandler.
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, Heaven forgive him too.
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot, Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime, Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron, That you shall think the devil has come from hell. Shake. King Jokn.
As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air
My services, which I have done the signiory,
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed: Shall out-tongue his complaints. Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests.
Thou dost wrong me, thou dissembler, thou;— Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword, I fear thee not.
I pry'thee take thy fingers from my throat; For though I am not splenetive and rash, Yet have I in me something dangerous,
Of whom your swords are temper'd may as well Wound the loud winds, or with be-mocked-at stabs Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish One dowle that's in my plume.
They come like sacrifices in their trim, And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war,
Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand. All hot and bleeding, will we offer them.
Why, I will fight with him upon this theme Until my eyelids will no longer wag.
Shaks. Hamlet. Must I give way and room to your rash choler? Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares? Shaks. Julius Cæsar.
Neither the king, nor him that loves him best, The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, Dares stir a wing, if Warwick stir his bells. I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares. Shaks. Henry VI. Part III.
I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, And with the other fling it at thy face, Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. Shaks. Henry VI. Part III. My ashes, as the Phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all: And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
Shaks. Henry VI. Part III.
What I did, I did in honour, Led by th' impartial conduct of my soul; And never shall you see, that I will beg A ragged and forestall'd remission.
Shaks. Henry IV. Part II.
Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, Vagabond, exile, flaying: Pent to linger But with a grain a day, I would not buy Their mercy at the price of one fair word. Shaks. Coriolanus.
Behold! I have a weapon: A better never did itself sustain Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day, That with this little arm, and this good sword, I have made my way through more impediments Than twenty times your stop.
Shaks. Henry IV. Part I If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest; And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. Shaks. Richard II. Who sets me else? by heaven I'll throw at all; I have a thousand spirits in my breast, To answer twenty thousand such as you.
I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him -a slanderous coward, and a villain: Which to maintain, I would allow him odds; And meet him, were I ty'd to run a-foot, Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps.
Shaks. Richard II Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. Shaks. Richard II
Thou trumpet, there's my purse, Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe: Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek Outswell the cholic of puff'd Aquilon: Come stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood;
Shaks. Troilus and Cressida. Whence and what art thou, execrable shape, That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance Thy miscreated front athwart my way
To yonder gates? through them I mean to pass That be assur'd, without leave ask'd of thee: Retire or taste thy folly, and learn by proof, Hell-born, not to contend with spirits of heaven. Milton's Paradise Lost
Reckonest thou thyself with spirits of heaven, Hell-doom'd, and breathest defiance here and scorn, Where I reign king, and to enrage thee more, Thy king and lord?
If I must contend, said he,
Best with the best, the sender not the sent, Or all at once; more glory will be won, Or less be lost.
Then, when I am thy captive, talk of chains, Proud limitary cherub, but cre then Far heavier load thyself expect to feel From my prevailing arm, though heav'n's king Ride on thy wings, and thou with thy compeers, Us'd to the yoke, draw'st his triumphant wheels In progress through the road of heav'n star-pav'd. Milton's Paradise Lost.
Our puissance is our own; our own right hand Shall teach us highest deeds, by proof to try Who is our equal: then thou shalt behold Whether by supplication we intend Address, and to begirt the Almighty throne Beseeching or besieging.
I scorn (quoth she) thou coxcomb silly, Quarter or counsel from a foe, If thou canst force me to it, do.
Enough for me: with joy I see The different doom our fates assign; Be thine despair and sceptred care, To triumph and to die are mine.
Torture thou may'st, but thou shalt ne'er despise
Let them wield the thunder,
Fell is their dint, who're mailed in despair.
(Nay, never look upon your lord, And lay your hand upon your sword,)
I tell thee thou'rt defied!
And if thou sajid'st, I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied.
He halts, and turns with clenched hand, And shout of loud defiance pours, And shook his gauntlet at the towers.
The mountaineer cast glance of pride Along Benledi's living side,
Then fix'd his eye and sable brow, Full on Fitz-James-"How say'st thou now?" These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true; And, Saxon,-I am Roderic Dhu!"
Scott's Lady of the Lake.
The shivering band stood oft aghast, At the impatient glance he cast;— Such glance the mountain eagle threw, As from the cliffs of Ben-venue She spread her dark sails on the wind, And high in middle heaven reclined, With her broad shadow on the lake, Silenced the warbler of the brake.
Scott's Lady of the Lake
On his dark face a scorching clime, And toil had done the work of time, Roughen'd the brow, the temples bared, And sable hairs with silver shared, Yet left what age alone could tame The lip of pride, the eye of flame, The full-drawn lip that upward curled, The eye that seem'd to scorn the world. Scott's Rokeby
The blood will follow, where the knive is driven; The flesh will quiver, where the pincers tear; And sighs and cries by nature grow on pain: But these are foreign to the soul: not mine The groans that issue, or the tears that fall; They disobey me; -on the rack I scorn thee. Young's Revenge. Thou think'st I fear thee, cursed reptile, And hast a pleasure in the damned thought. Though my heart's blood should curdle at thy A life like thine to other wretches - live!
1'll stay and face thee still.
Joanna Baillie's De Montford. On this spot I stand, The champion of despair-this arm my brandThis breast my panoply-and for my gage(Oh thou hast reft from me all knightly pledge!) Take these black hairs torn from a head that hates thee,
Byron's Heaven and Earth. Go, sun, while mercy holds me up
On Nature's awful waste To drink this last and bitter cup
Of grief that man shall taste. Go, tell that night that hides thy face, Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,
On Earth's sepulchral clod, The darkening universe defy
Deep be their dye before that pledge is ransom'd-To quench his immortality,
In thine heart's blood or mine.
Or shake his trust in God!
No-though of all earth's hope bercft, Life, swords, and vengeance still are left. We'll make yon valley's reeking caves Live in the awe-struck minds of men, Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen.
Stand! the ground's your own, my braves! Will ye give it up to slaves?
Will ye look for greener graves?
Hope ye mercy still?
What's the mercy despots feel? Hear it in yon cannon's peal, See it on yon bristling steel, Ask it ye who will!
Woe to the British soldiery
That little dread us near! On them shall light at midnight A strange and sudden fear: When waking to their tents on fire, They grasp their arms in vain, And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again.
Shaks. Richard III Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub, To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to make my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp, That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be belov'd?
Shaks. Henry VI. Part III Nature herself started back when thou wert born, And cried, the work 's not mine.
The midwife stood aghast; and when she saw Thy mountain-back, and thy distorted legs, Thy face itself
Half-minted with the royal stamp of man,
And half o'ercome with beast, she doubted long Whose right in thee were more;
And knew not if to burn thee in the flames Were not the holier work.
Am I to blame, if nature threw my body In so perverse a mould! yet when she cast Her envious hand upon my supple joints, Unable to resist, and rumpled them
On heaps in their dark lodging; to revenge Pierpont. Her bungled work, she stamped my mind more
And as from chaos, huddled and deform'd, The gods struck fire, and lighted up the lamps That beautify the sky; so she inform'd This ill-shap'd body with a daring soul, And, making less than man, she made me more Lee's Edipus
Deformity is daring; Bryant. It is its essence to o'ertake mankind
The Lord rebuke thee, thou smiter of the meek, Thou robber of the righteous, thou trampler of the weak!
By heart and soul, and make itself the equal- Ay, the superior of the rest. There is A spur in its halt movements, to become
Go, light the dark, cold hearth-stones-go turn the All that the others cannot, in such things prison lock
Of the poor hearts thou hast hunted, thou wolf amid the flock. Whittier.
As still are free for both, to compensate For stepdame Nature's avarice at first. Byron's Deformed Transformed
Do you dare you To taunt me with my born deformity?
Byron's Deformed Transformed Glorious ambition!
I love thee most in dwarfs.
These are thy glorious works, parent of good, Almighty thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then! Unspeakable, who sit'st above these heavens, To us invisible, or dimly seen
Byron's Deformed Transformed. In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Neve. aid bring forth a man without a man; Nor could the first man, being but The passive subject, not the active mover, Be the maker of himself; so of necessity There must be a superior pow'r to nature. Tourneur's Atheist's Tragedy.
It is not so with him that all things knows, As 'tis with us, that square our guess by shows: But most it is presumption in us, when The help of heav'n, we count the act of men. Shaks. All's Well. It did not please the gods, who instruct the people : And their unquestion'd pleasures must be serv'd. They know what's fitter for us, than ourselves: And 't were impiety to think against them.
Jonson's Catiline. "Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as he is, is labour without end.
And chiefly thou, O spirit, that dost prefer, Before all temples, the upright heart and pure, Instruct me, for thou know'st.
Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine. Milton's Paradise Lost
Beyond compare the son of God was seen Most glorious; in him all his father shone Substantially express'd; and in his face Divine compassion visibly appear'd, Love without end, and without measure grace. Milton's Paradise Lost.
From nature's constant or eccentric laws,
The thoughtful soul this general inference draws, That an effect must pre-suppose a cause: And, while she does her upward flight sustain, Touching each link of the continued chain, At length she is oblig'd and forc'd to sce A first, a source, a life, a deity; What has for ever been, and must for ever be. Prior's Soloman.
In this wild maze their vain endeavours end; How can the less the greater comprehend, Or finite reason reach infinity? For what could fathom God were more than He. Dryden's Religio Laici.
Hail, source of being! universal soul Of heaven and earth! essential presence, hail! To thee I bend the knee; to thee my thoughts Continual climb; who, with a master hand, Hast the great whole into perfection touch'd. Thomson's Seasons.
With what an awful world-revolving power Were first the unwieldy planets launch'd along The illimitable void! Thus to remain Amid the flux of many thousand years,
Milton's Paradise Lost. That oft has swept the toiling race of men,
For wonderful indeed are all his works, ('leasant to know, and worthiest to be all Had in remembrance always with delight; But what created mind can comprehend Their number, or the wisdom infinite l'hat brought them forth, but hid their causes deep. Milton's Paradise Lost.
And all their labour'd monuments away, Firm, unremitting, matchless in their course. To the kind-temper'd change of night and day, And of the seasons ever stealing round, Minutely faithful: such the all-perfect hand! That pois'd, impels, and rules the steady whole.
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