And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,
And dress'd myself in such humility,
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,
Even in the presence of the crowned king.

I have no taste

Of popular applause: The noisy praise
Of giddy crowds as changeable as winds;
Still vehement, and still without a cause:
Servants to chance, and blowing in the tide
Shaks. Henry IV. Part I. Of swoln success; but veering with the ebb,
It leaves the channel dry.

And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform
Some certain cdicts, and more strait decrees,
That lie too heavy on the commonwealth:
Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep
Over his country's wrongs; and, by his face,
This seeming brow of justice did he win
The hearts of all he did angle for.

Dryden's Spanish Friar

Yet of manners mild,

And winning every heart, he knew to please,
Nobly to please; while equally he scorn'd
Or adulation to receive, or give.

Thomson

Shaks. Henry IV. Part I. He who can listen pleas'd to such applause,
Buys at a dearer rate than I dare purchase,
And pays for idle air with sense and virtue.
Mallett's Mustapha.

Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
A brace of draymen bid - God speed him well,
And had the tribute of his supple knee,
With thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;
As were our England in reversion his,
And he our subjects' next degree in hope.

O breath of public praise,

Short-liv'd and vain! oft gain'd without desert,
As often lost, unmerited: composed
Shaks. Richard II. But of extremes: Thou first beginn'st with love
Enthusiastic, madness of affection; then
(Bounding o'er moderation and o'er reason)
Thou turn'st to hate, as causeless and as fierce.
Havard's Regulus.

Ev'ry wretch pining and pale before,
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks;
A largess universal, like the sun,
His lib'ral eye doth give to every one,
Thawing cold fear.

Shaks. Henry V.

To be a crouching, crawling, fawning cur,
To lick the lazy hands of prating priests,
With protestations of integrity
Devoted wholly to them;

With true compunction of unfeigned grief,
Submissively to crave their gracious pardon:
To paw the ragged multitude with praise
Of their ingenious care and fervent love
For preservation of the commonwealth;
To promise fair rewards to froward fools;
Perhaps with dirty feet to mire with fawnings,
And then be beaten with the shameful staff
Of foul reproach:-

To do all this, were to be born a fool;
To live a slave and die a coward.
Death! I will stand between the counter bluffs
Of these devouring storms in spite of hell;
Nor priest nor peasant shall enforce me stoop
Ar. inch to either: As I have liv'd, I'll fall;
Or freed from both, or rent up root and all.
Hemming's Jew's Tragedy.
Towards him they bend

With awful reverence prone, and as a god
Extol him equal to the High'st in Heaven.

Some shout him, and some hang upon his car
To gaze in 's eyes and bless him. Maidens wave
Their 'kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy.
While others, not so satisfied, unhorse
The gilded equipage, and, turning loose
His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve.
Cowper's Task.

Their's was the glee of martial breast,
And laughter their's at little jest;
And oft lord Marmion deign'd to aid,
And mingle in the mirth they made:
For though with men of high degree,
The proudest of the proud was he,
Yet train'd in camps, he knew the art
To win the soldier's hardy heart.

Scott's Marmion.
Track not the steps of such as hold you cheap-

Milton's Paradise Lost. Too mean to prize, though good enough to keep;
Your "real, genuine, no-mistake Tom Thumbs"
Are little people fed on great men's crumbs.
O. W. Holmes.

Bare-headed popularity low he bow'd,
An paid the salutations of the crowd.
Dryden's Palamon and Arcite.

Curse on his virtues! they 've undone his country, Here fabled chiefs, in darker ages born,
Such popular humanity is treason.
Or worthies old, whom arms or arts adorn,
Who cities rais'd, or tam'd a monstrous race,
The walls in venerable order grace:
Heroes in animated marble frown,
And legislators seem to think in stone.

Addison's Cato.
Courteous and cautious, therefore, in his country,
He was all things to all men, and dispensed
To some civility to others bounty,
And promises to all-which last commenced
To gather to a somewhat large amount, he
Not calculating how much they condensed;
But what with keeping some, and breaking others,
His word had the same value as another's.

PORTRAIT.

What find I here?

Fair Portia's counterfeit? what demy-god
Hath come so near creation.

But her eyes

Byron.

Pope's Temple of Fame.

Blest be the art that can immortalize,
The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim
To quench it.

Согорет.

Love on his lips and hatred in his heart,
His motto-constancy; his creed- -to part;
Words that like honey feeble flies enthral
To hide a soul of black envenom'd gall.
Rash, cruel, wavering, subtle, insincere,
The winds of heaven not so widely veer;

Shaks. Merchant of Venice. Strong in his words but in his actions weak,
His greatest talent not to do but speak,
Language that burns th' unwary to entice,
A head all fire, and a heart all ice:
So does the mountain's summit fiercely glow,

How could he see to do them? having made one,
Methinks it should have power to steal both his,
And leave itself unfurnish'd.

Shaks. Merchant of Venice. While deep beneath still lies the frozen snow.

"T was pretty, though a plague
To see him every hour: to sit and draw
His arched brow, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table; heart too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour:
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relics.

Shaks.

Thy beauty, not a fault is there;

Byron's Lara

No queen of Grecian line
E'er braided more luxuriant hair
O'er forehead more divine;-
The light of midnight's starry heaven
Is in those radiant eyes;
The rose's crimson life has given

That cheek its glowing dyes;—
And yet I love thee not:-thy brow
Is but the sculptor's mould:

It wants a shade—it wants a glow-
It is less fair than cold.

Miss Landon's Poetical Portraits.

O serious eyes! how is it that the light,
The burning rays that mine pour into ye,
Still find ye cold, and dead, and dark as night
O lifeless eyes! can yet not answer me?
O lips! whereon my own so oft hath dwelt,
Hath love's warm, fearful thrilling touch no spell
To waken sense in ye?-O misery! —
O breathless lips! can ye not speak to me?
Thou soulless mimicry of life; my tears

Fall scalding over thee; in vain, in vain;
I press thee to my heart, whose hopes and fears
Are all thine own; thou dost not feel the strain,
O thou dull image! wilt thou not reply
To my fond prayers and wild idolatry?

Frances Kemble Butler.

I ne'er have look'd upon thy form of face,
Albeit they tell me thou art passing fair;
I know but of the Intellectual there,
And shape from thence all loveliness and grace.
Mrs. Elizabeth J. Eames.

roots?

Shaks. King Lear.

Clear on the expansion of that snow-white forehead Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath
Sits intellectual beauty meekly thron'd;
Yet oh, the expression tells that thou hast sorrow'd,
And in thy yearning, human heart, aton'd,
For thy soul's lofty gifts.

Mrs. Elizabeth J. Eames.
Thy picture, in my memory now,
Is fair as morn, and fresh as May!

Within this mile break forth an hundred springs:
The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips;
The bounteous huswife, nature, on each bush
Lays her full mess before you. Want! why want?
Shaks. Timon of Athens.

Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness,
Willis's Poems. And fear'st to die! famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression stareth in thine eyes,
Upon thy back hangs ragged misery,
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law.
Shaks. Romeo and Juliet.
The rich

A still, sweet, placid, moonlight face,
And slightly nonchalant,
Which seems to claim a middle place
Between one's love and aunt,
Where childhood's star has left a ray
In woman's sunniest sky,
As morning dew and blushing day
On fruit and blossom lie.

There ever is a form, a face

O. W. Holmes.

Have wakeful nights, whilst the poor man's turf
Begets a peaceful sleep; in which they're blest
From frigid fears all day, at night with rest.
Goffe's Careless Shepherdess.

To men

Press'd by their wants, all change is ever welcome.
Ben Jonson's Catiline.

Want is a bitter and a hateful good,
Because its virtues are not understood;
Yet many things, impossible to thought,
Have been by need to full perfection brought.
The daring of the soul proceeds from thence,
Sharpness of wit, and active diligence;
Prudence at once, and fortitude it gives;
And, if in patience taken, mends our lives.
Dryden's Wife of Bath
What numbers once in fortune's lap high-fed,
Solicit the cold hand of charity!
To shock us more, solicit it in vain!

Young's Night Thoughts

What wretch art thou? whose misery and baseness | Where mice with music charm, and vermin crawl,
Hangs on my door; whose hateful whine of woe And snails with silver traces deck the wall.
Breaks in upon my sorrows, and distracts
My jarring senses with thy beggar's cry?

Rowe's Jane Shore.

Thus while my joyless minutes tedious flow,
With looks demure, and silent pace, a dun,
Horrible monster! hated by gods and men,
To my aerial citadel ascends;

With vocal heel, thrice thund'ring at my gate,
With hideous accent thrice he calls.

Philips's Splendid Shilling

Sore pierc'd by wintry winds, How many shrink into the sordid hut Of cheerless poverty.

Dr. Wolcot's Peter Pindar,

And mark the wretch, whose wanderings never knew

The world's regard, that soothes, though half un

true;

Whose erring heart the lash of sorrow bore,
But found not pity when it err'd no more.
Yon friendless man, at whose dejected eye
Th' unfeeling proud one looks, and passes by;
Condemn'd on penury's barren path to roam,
Scorn'd by the world, and left without a home.
Campbell's Pleasures of Hope.

Thomson's Seasons. Ay! idleness! the rich folks never fail
To find some reason why the poor deserve
Their miseries.

O grant me, heav'n, a middle state,
Neither too humble nor too great;
More than enough for nature's ends,
With something left to treat my friends.

O blissful poverty!

Mallet.

Nature, too partial to thy lot, assigns
Health, freedom, innocence, and downy peace,
Her real goods; and only mocks the great,
With empty pageantries.

Fenton's Mariamne.

Be honest poverty thy boasted wealth;
So shall thy friendships be sincere, tho' few,

So shall thy sleep be sound, thy waking cheerful.
Havard's Regulus.

She, wretched matron, forc'd in age, for bread,

Southey,

Burns o'er the plough sung sweet his wood-notes
wild;

And richest Shakspeare was a poor man's child.
Ebenezer Elliott.

Oh, faithful love by poverty embrac'd!
Thy heart is fire amid a wintry waste;
Thy joys are roses born on Hecla's brow;
Thy home is Eden, warm amid the snow;
And she, thy mate, when coldest blows the storm,

Clings then most fondly to thy guardian form;
Even as thy taper gives intensest light,
When o'er thy bow'd roof darkest falls the night.
Ebenezer Elliott

To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, Few save the poor feel for the poor;

To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn,
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn.
Goldsmith's Deserted Village.

Where then, ah! where shall poverty reside,
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride?
If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd,
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade,
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide,
And e'en the bare-worn common is deny'd.

Goldsmith's Deserted Village.

Sleep seems their only refuge. For alas!
Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd,
And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few.

Cowper's Task.

The rich know not how hard
It is to be of needful rest

And needful food debarr'd:
They know not of the scanty meal,
With small pale faces round;
No fire upon the cold damp hearth
When snow is on the ground.

Miss Landon.

I said to Penury's meagre train,
Come on your threats I brave;
My last poor life-drop you may drain,
And crush me to the grave;
Yet still, the spirit that endures,
Shall mock your force the while,
And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours,
With bitter smile.

Speak gently, kindly, to the poor;

Mrs. Stoddare

Let no harsh term be heard;
They have enough they must endure,
Without an unkind word.

David Rates

Is the reflection doth from virtue rise; These fair encomiums do virtue raise To higher acts: to praise is to advise. James R. Lowell's Poems. Telling men what they are, we let them see, And represent to them what they should be.

The love of praise, howe'er conceal'd by art, Reigns, more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart: The proud to gain it toils on toils endure, Shaks. All's Well. The modest shun it but to make it sure.

Like yours, is open
to the charms of praise:
There is no joy beyond it, when the mind

Shaks. Henry IV. Part I. Of him who hears it can with honest pride
Confess it just, and listen to its music.
Whitehead's Roman Father