Beauty, wit, high birth, desert of service, Shakspere. Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes. Shakspere. With calumnious art Of counterfeited truth thus held their ears. Milton. From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy, Have I not seen what human things could do? Saw ye the sun, obscured at noon, Burst through the mist, and fiercer blaze? Saw ye at eve the clouded moon Shine out, and shed soul-soothing rays? Oh! thus shall truth's eternal beam Consume foul falsehood's venomed shroud: Thus, thus shall lovely virtue gleam Through calumny's malignant cloud! Byron. Anon. CAN-CANNOT. IF she can make me blest, she only can; Do I not in plainest truth Tell you-I do not, nor I cannot love you? I cannot love him; Dryden. Shakspere. Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Shakspere. CANDOUR. CANE. CANDOUR. 155 A candid judge will read each piece of wit No haughty gesture marks his gait, Eliza Cook. CANE. ABENUMAR, thy youth these sports has known, Sir Plume of amber snuff-box, justly vain, Dryden. Pope. And the sweet liquor on the cane bestow, Let beaux their canes with amber tipt produce; May no such vicious persons walk the street! Gay. Oh! for the lessons learned by heart! Thos. Hood. As when the devilish iron engine wrought With thund'ring noise, and all the aire doth choke, That none can breathe, nor see, nor hear at will, Thro' smouldry cloud of duskish stinking smoke, That th' only breath him daunts who hath escapt his Spenser. stroke. The cannons have their bowels full of wrath; Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls.-Shakspere. The tumult of each sacked and burning village, The bursting shell, the gateway wrench'd asunder, Is it, O man! with such discordant voices, Longfellow. Did ye not hear it? No! 't was but the wind, Arm! arm! it is-it is-the cannon's opening roar. Byron. CAPABLE. CARE. 157 CAPABLE-CAPACITY. FAIR, gentle, sweet, Your wit makes wise things foolish: when we greet With eyes best seeing Heaven's fiery eye. By light we lose light: your capacity Is of that nature, as to your huge store Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor. Notwithstanding thy capacity, Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soe'er, Shakspere. But falls into abatement and low price. Shakspere. What secret springs their eager passions move; How capable of death for injured love. Dryden. Prior. The soul, immortal substance, to remain For they that most and greatest things embrace, As streams enlarged, enlarge the channel's space. Since the world's wide frame does not include Davies. Blackmore. CARE. RUDE was his garment, and to rags all rent, Ne better had he, ne for better cared; With blist'red hands amongst the cinders brent, And fingers filthy, with long nayles unpared, Right fit to rend the food on which he fared: His name was Care; a blacksmith by his trade, That neither day nor night from working spared, But to small purpose yron wedges made: Those be unquiet thoughts that careful minds invade. Spenser. Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud, Care is no care, but rather corrosive, Care that is enter'd once into the breast, Shakspere. Shakspere. Will have the whole possession ere it rest Jonson. Care that in cloisters only seals her eyes, Which youth thinks folly, age and wisdom owns; Sir W. Davenant. In care they live, and must for many care; Lord Brook. All creatures else a time of love possess, Dryden. What bliss, what wealth, did e'er the world bestow In all proceedings in this great affair, Although my cares do hang upon my soul May. Clapthorne. |