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Suit the Action to the Word and the Word to the
Action; with this special observance, that you

oerstep not the Modesty of Nature.


Published by Mawman, & the rest of the Proprietors

Printed by S.Hamilton, Weybridge, Surry






Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull

§ 1. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.



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I am undone; there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. It were all one, That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it, he is so above me! In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere, Th' ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. Twas pretty tho' a plague, To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table: heart, too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favor! But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his relics.

A parasitical vain Coward.

I know him a notorious liar; Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Look bleak in the cold wind: withal, full oft

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Impossible be strange attempts to those
That weigh their pain in sense, and do suppose
What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove

To show her merit, that did miss her love?
Character of a noble Courtier, by an old

King. I would I had that corporal soundness


As when thy father and myself in friendship
First tried our soldiership! He did look far
Into the service of the time, and was
Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long;
But on us both did haggish age steal on,
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
To talk of your good father. In his youth

He had the wit which I can well observe
To day in our young lords; but they may jest
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted,
Ere they can hide their levity in honor:
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
His equal had awak'd them; and his honor,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him speak; and at that time
His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below
He us'd as creatures of another place, [him
And bow'd his imminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,
In their poor praise he humbled; such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times,
Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them
But goers backward.
Would I were with him!-He would always


(Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears; but grafted them To grow there, and to bear) Let me not live' -Thus his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out- Let me not live,' quoth he, 'After my flame lacks oil; to be the snuff 'Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain; whose judge[stancies 'Mere fathers of their garments; whose conExpire before their fashions'-This he wish'd.

ments are



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(From the Illustrated London News.)


What tribute shall we give the brave,
Who fight the glorious fight,
Who stand or fall in freedom's cause
Defenders of the right,

Who ward the blow that tyrants deal

And vengeance they would wreak?

The meed they claim-the wreath of fame,
The glory which they seek;

Living, th' applause of grateful crowds
And pathways fresh with blooms;
And, when they die, the world's regret,
Emblazoned on their tombs.


And what the tribute greater still
We owe the humbler brave,
Who, though the light of glory shine
Like sunlight on the wave,

Look up from sunlight to the sun,
And see, through clouds afar,

The fairer ray, more bright than day,
Of Duty's guiding star;

Who ask no recompense of men,

To save a brother's life,

And shame, by greater bravery,

The bravest deeds of strife?


What shall we give them-souls sublime,
Who in the stormy dark,

When frantic seas assault the shore,

And whirl the helpless bark

On treacherous sands, hear far away,
Amid the fitful gale,

"The boom of guns, the seaman's cry,
Or dying woman's wail,

Then launch their skiff, through blinding foam
Of wild waves tempest-trod,

"Their errand, Love; their only guides,
Their own true hearts and God?


Heroes of Peace! no pomp of war,
Or sound of fife and drum;

No splendour of the soldier's craft,

Or hope of joys to come,

Make quick their pulse with high resolve,

Or nerve their honest hands;

"They only feel that mercy calls,

And at its high commands

"They look at peril face to face,

With calm, untroubled eye;

And, when it bursts, undaunted still,

They meet it-and defy!


What shall we give them? Honour? Fame?

Ay, these, and something more

"The gratitude of free men's hearts,

And tribute from their store;

Yet, not to satisfy a debt

"Twould beggar gold to pay,

But, for example to the world,

High gleaming to the day;

The gallant hearts-the hardy wights-
Who, mid the foam and swell,
Made famous in all time to come

The hapless "Northern Belle."


And those who died-the noble nine?
When pitying sighs are borne,
We'll not forget their orphan babes
And widows left forlorn.

If nought can dry those widows' tears,
And heal the wounded heart,

To help them in their hour of need
Let England do its part.
Small bounty-great in its intent-
May light their household fires;

And teach their babes in future days
To imitate their sires.

Jan. 14, 1857.



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