EGNATIUS has fine teeth, and those
Eternally Egnatius shows.
Some criminal is being tried
For murder, and they open wide.
A widow wails her only son;
Widow and him they open on.
'Tis a disease, I'm very sure,
And wish 't were such as you could cure,
My good Egnatius! for what's half
So silly as a silly laugh?
Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper;
And others of such vinegar aspect,
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
Sport, that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter, holding both his sides. Milton.
See Tityas, with merriment possest,
Is burst with laughter, ere he hears the jest;
What need he stay? for when the joke is o'er
His teeth will be no whiter than before.
Let no man charge me that I mean
To clothe in sable every social scene,
And give good company a face severe,
As if they met around a father's bier;
But tell some men, that pleasure all their bent,
And laughter all their work, is life misspent.
Then must I plunge again into the crowd
Where revel calls, and laughter, vainly loud,
False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek,
To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak.
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught.
TELL Physic of her boldness;
Tell Skill it is pretension;
Tell Charity of coldness;
Tell Law it is contention.-Sir W. Raleigh.
Law does not put the least restraint
Upon our freedom, but maintain 't;
Or, if it does, 't is for our good,
To give us freer latitude;
For wholesome laws preserve us free,
By stinting of our liberty.
Each state must have its policies:
Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters.
Even the wild outlaw, in his forest walk,
Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline;
For not since Adam wore his verdant apron,
Hath man with man in social union dwelt,
But laws were made to draw that union closer.
There is no danger to a man that knows
What life and death is: there's not any law
Exceeds his knowledge; neither is it lawful
That he should stoop to any other law.
O let me pierce the secret shade,
Where dwells the venerable maid!
There humbly mark, with reverend awe,
The guardian of Britannia's law;
Unfold with joy her sacred page,
(The united boast of many an age,)
Where, mix'd yet uniform, appears
The wisdom of a thousand years;
And other doctrines thence imbibe
Than lurk within the sordid scribe.
Sir William Blackstone.
Are not our laws alike for high and low?
Or shall we bind the poor man in his fetters,
And let the rich go revel in his crimes?
Charles West Thomson.
A bunch of grapes sprung up among the thorns; Where, but by caution, none the harm can miss: Nor art's true riches read to understand,
But shall, to please his taste, offend his hand.
Learning is an addition beyond
Nobility of birth: honour of blood,
Without the ornament of knowledge, is
A glorious ignorance.
A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not, the Pierian spring;
For shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking deeply sobers us again.
'Tis thus to man the voice of nature spake:-
Go, from the creatures thy instruction take.
Learn from the birds what food the thickets yield;
Learn from the beasts the physic of the field;
The art of building from the bee receive;
Learn of the mole to plough, the worm to weave;
Learn of the little nautilus to sail,
Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale."
How empty learning, and how vain is art,
But as it mends the life, and guides the heart.
Learning by study must be won;
'Twas ne'er entail'd from sire to son.
Learning, that cobweb of the brain,
Profane, erroneous, and vain:
A trade of knowledge, as replete
As others are with fraud and cheat;
An art to encumber gifts and wit,
And render both for nothing fit.
He learn'd the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery,
And how to scale a fortress or-a nunnery.-Byron
THERE is a cliff whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully on the confined deep:
Bring me but to the very brim of it,
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear,
With something rich about me; from that place
I shall no leading need.
What I did, I did in honour,
Led by the impartial conduct of my soul.-Shakspere.
And that odd impulse, which, in wars and creeds,
Makes men, like cattle, follow him who leads.
Lo! in the middle of the wood,
The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud,
With winds upon the branch, and there
Grows green, and broad, and takes no care,
Sun-steeped at noon, and in the moon
Nightly dew-fed; and, turning yellow,
Falls, and floats adown the air.
Approach, observe this perished gauze-like leaf,
Its delicate reticulation scan:
Know that each filament's a precious deed,
And was of life and beauty, once the source;
With strict mechanical exactness framed,
Its function, as its form, determinate.-T. L. Merritt.
METHINKS it were an easy leap
To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon.
Due entrance he disdain'd, and in contempt,
At one slight bound high overleap'd all bound
Of hill or highest wall, and sheer within
Lights on his feet.
I SHALL the effect of this good lesson keep,
As watchman to my heart.
There is a lesson in each flower,
A story in each stream and bower;
In every herb on which you tread
Are written words, which, rightly read,
Will lead you from earth's fragrant sod,
To hope, and holiness, and God.
HEAVEN first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires;
The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart—
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
And waft a sigh from Indus to the pole.
Letters admit not of a half-renown;
They give you nothing, or they give a crown.
No work e'er gained true fame, or ever can,
But what did honour to the name of man.
A letter from his lady dear, he bless'd
The paper that her hand had travell'd o'er,
And her eyes look'd on; and would think he saw
Gleams of that light she lavish'd from her eyes,
Wandering amid the words of love there trac'd,
Like glow-worms amid buds of flowers.
Do you like letter-reading? If you do,
I have some twenty dozen very pretty ones;
Gay, sober, solemn, rapturous, very true,
And very lying-stupid ones and witty ones-
On gilt-edg'd paper, blue perhaps, or pink,
And frequently in fancy-colour'd ink.
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