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BUT the base miser starves amidst his store,
'Tis strange the miser should his care employ To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy.
Their crimes on gold shall misers lay,
The miser lives alone, abhorred by all
I pray thee, deal with men in misery,
THOU, who to Pindas tak'st thy way,
Where hangs my harp upon the cypress tree,
The kindly throbs that other men control,
To tell thy mis'ries will no comfort breed;
IN struggling with misfortune lies the proof
Misfortune does not always wait on vice,
Oh! mortals, short of sight, who think the past
On a mission, on a mission,
To declare the coming vision.-E. B. Browning.
The warriors of Messiah, messengers
Of peace, and light, and life; whose eye, unsealed,
Far into bliss, saw men, immortal men,
Who strong, though seeming weak; who warlike, though Unarmed with bow and sword; appearing mad, Though sounder than the schools alone e'er made The doctor's head; devote to God and truth.-Pollok.
Great Britain has her sons, both frank and brave,
Dr. Wm. Beattie.
MISTAKE. MISTRESS. MISTRUST.
How man eternally false judgments makes,
Fools into the notion fall,
That vice or virtue there is none at all;
Mistaken Brutus thought to break the yoke,
By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust
LIKE a lily,
That once was mistress of the field, and flourished, I'll hang my head, and perish. Shakspere.
Wonder not sov'reign mistress! if perhaps
Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;
Not then mistrust, but tender love, enjoins
MIXTURE. MOCKERY. MODERATION.
AIR, and ye elements, the eldest born
Monastic beards, and shaven crowns,
A mixture strange of fowl and fish;
A knightly monk, or monkish knight.
WHAT cannot be preserved when fortune takes,
Many thousand widows
Will this mock, mock out of their dear husbands, Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down. Shakspere.
He will not
Mock us with his blest sight, then snatch him hence Soon shall we see our hopes return. Milton.
By moderation, either state to bear,
I'D have you sober and contain yourself,
In moderation placing all my glory,
While tories call me whig, and whigs a tory.—Pope.
BUT her sad eyes still fastened on the ground,
Maidens in modesty say No, to that
Which they would have the profferers construe, Aye.
He saw her charming, but he saw not half
Can it be
That modesty may more betray our sense,
True modesty is a discerning grace,
It is a harder thing for men to rate,
Look, look! the summer rises in her cheeks!
Modesty's the charm
That coldest hearts can quickest warm;
And gaining ever still retains.-J. K. Paulding.