Mrs. MACAUL Y. O woman ! That some one of

you would take An everlasting pen

into

your hands, And grave in paper,

paper, which the writ shall make More lasting than the marble monuments, Your matchless virtues to posterity,

BEAUMONT.

GENERAL BRG-E, Forgive me, pardon my mistaken zeal, That left my country, cross'd the stormy seas, To war with honour. Now that my passions give me leave to think, The hand of heaven appears in what I suffer'd. THOMSON.

SIR

G. B. RODNEY,

SHAKESP.

I'll put a girdle round about the earth In forty minutes.

For blessings ever wait on glorious deeds; And though a late, a fure reward succeeds.

CoNG.

Hon. C. J. FOX.

Exalted souls
Have passions in proportion violent,
Refiftless, and tormenting : they're a tax
Impos'd by nature on pre-eminence,
And fortitude, and wisdom must support them.

F

:

LILLO.

LADY LADY ALMERIA CARPENTER.

No beauteous blossom of the fragrant spring,
Tho' the fair child of nature newly born,
Can be so lovely.

OTWAY.
The bloom of opening Powers, unsullied beauty,
Softness, and sweetest innocence she wears,
And looks like nature in the world's first spring.. ROWE..

What tender force, what dignity divine,
What virtue consecrating every feature ;
Around that neck what drofs are gold and pearl ! YOUNG..

The abstract of all beauty, soul of sweetness:
Defend

me, honest thoughts, I shall grow wild elfe..
What eyes are there! rather what little heavens !
To stir mens contemplations! What a paradise
Runs through each part she has! Good blood be temperate :
I must look off ; too excellent an object
Confounds the sense that sees it.

BUCKINGHAM..

ALDERMAN WOOLDRIDGE.

Tell me why, good heaven,
Thou mad'st me what I am, with all the fpirit,
Aspiring thoughts, and elegant desires,
That fill the happiest man? Ah! rather, why
Didst not thou form me fordid as my fate,
Base-minded, dull, and fit to carry burdens ?

OTWAY.

COUR T.

a

The court's a golden, but a fatal circle, Upon whose magic skirts, a thousand devils, In chrystal forms, fit tempting innocence, And beckon early virtue from its centre,

Lee. I have no business there; I have not lavish temperance enough T attend a fav'rite's heels, and watch his smiles, . Bear an ill office done me to my face, And thank the lord that wrong'd me for his favour.. OTWAY.

Virtue must be thrown off, 'tis a coarse garment, Too heavy for the sunshine of a court.

DRYDEN The DRAWING ROOM. : There like a statue thou hast stood befieg'd By fycophants and fools, the growth of courts :. Where thy gull’d eyes, in all the gaudy round,, Met nothing but a lie in every face; And the gross flattery of a gaping croud, Envious who. first should catch, and first applaud : The stuff, or royal nonsense.

Ibid. Than courts, ye gods, be any place my doom, Or any dungeon but a drawing-room! WHITEHEAD.

a

LADY
Thy very looks are lies, eternal fallhood .
Smiles in thy lips, and flatters in thy eyes. .

Obey me, features, for one supple moment:
You shall not long be tortured.

SMITH.

THOMSON.

LORD SHAKESP.

last appeal ;

LORD NORTH.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones.
To
you, great gods, I make

my
Or clear my virtues, or my crime reveal.
If wand'ring in the maze of fate I run,
And backward tread the paths I-fought to shun";
Impute my errors to your own decree,
My hands are guilty, but my heart is free.

DRYDEN.

GERMAIN, L. G. SACKVILLE.

A nameless terror stirs my soul, And spreads severe disquiet through my

bofom. Why should I fear? The man of guilt alone Should feel disorder.- 'Tis but nature's frailty ; Th' unbidden trembling of the various heart, Where hopes and fears arise, and pass by turns. MALLET.

What means this boding terror that usurps, In spite oʻme, dominion o'er my heart,

' Converting the sweet flower of new-blown hope To deadly night-shade! pois'ning to my

soul "The fountain of its bliss.

MILLER. LORD CARLISLE'S IRISH-COURT. All his gaudy courtiers balking round him, Like poisonous vermin in a dog-day sun.

Young, Of all court-service learn the common lot, To-day 'tis done, to-morrow 'tis forgot.

DRYDEN.

DUT.

DUTCHESS OF KT-N. Short is the course of

every

lawless pleasure,
Grief like a shade on all its footsteps waits,
Scarce visible in joy’s meridian height:
But downwards as its blaze declining spreads,
The dwarfish shadow to a giant grows.

MILTON.

a

Oh! is there not
A time, a righteous time, reserv'd in fate;
When these oppressors of mankind shall feel
The miseries they give; and blindly fight
For their own fetters too?

THOMSON.

SHAKESP.

MR. ERSKINE. For

your words, they rob the hybla bees, And make them honeyless.

Every word he speaks a Syren's note To drown a careless hearer.

When he spoke, what tender words he us'd ! So softly, that like fakes of feather'd snow. They melted as they fell.

BEAUMONT

DRYDEN.

Fortune takes care that fools should still be seen;
She places them aloft, o'th' topmost spoke
Of all her wheel. Fools are the daily work
Of nature, her vocation.

G

Ibid.

Mrs.