Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue;
But, like a shadow, proves the substance true.

1406

Pope: E. on Criticism. Pt. ii. Line 266

Base envy withers at another's joy,

And hates that excellence it cannot reach. 1407

Thomson: Seasons. Spring. Line 284.

So a wild Tartar, when he spies

A man that's valiant, handsome, wise,
If he can kill him, thinks t' inherit
His wit, his beauty, and his spirit;
As if just so much he enjoy'd,

As in another is destroy'd.

1408

Butler: Hudibras. Pt. i. Canto ii. Line 23. Even her tyranny had such a grace, The women pardon'd all except her face. 1409 EPIGRAM.

Byron: Don Juan. Canto v. St. 113.

Two millers thin, called Bone and Skin
Would starve us all, or near it;
But be it known to Skin and Bone,
That Flesh and Blood can't bear it.

1410 EPITAPHS.

John Byrom: On Two Monopolists.

From his cradle

He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one;
Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading;
Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not,

But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer:

And to add greater honors to his age

Than man could give, he died fearing God.

1411

Shaks.: Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Here she lies a pretty bud,

Lately made of flesh and blood;
Who, as soon fell fast asleep,

As her little eyes did peep.

Give her strewings, but not stir
The earth, that lightly covers her.

1412

Herrick: Aph. Upon a Child that Died.

Shrine of the mighty! can it be,
That this is all remains of thee?

Byron: Giaour. Line 106.

1413
By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed,
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned,

By strangers honored, and by strangers mourned..

1414 Pope: Elegy to Mem. of Unfortunate Lady. Line 51

So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name,
What once had beauty, titles, wealth and fame
How lov'd, how honor'd once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot;

A heap of dust alone remains of thee
"Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!

1415 Pope Elegy to Mem. of Unfortunate Lady. Line 69
To this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art! draw near,
Here lies the friend most lov'd, the son most dear;
Who ne'er knew joy but friendship might divide,
Or gave his father grief but when he died.

1416

Pope: Epitaph on Harcourt

Lo! where this silent marble weeps,
A friend, a wife, a mother sleeps;

A heart within whose sacred cell
The peaceful virtues loved to dwell:
Affection warm, and faith sincere,
And soft humanity were there.
In agony, in death resign'd,

She felt the wound she left behind:
Her infant image here below
Sits smiling on a father's woe.
1417

Gray: Epitaph on Mrs. Jane Clerke.

Here rests his head, upon the lap of earth,
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown;
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere;
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send :
He gave to Mis'ry (all he had) a tear,

He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend,
No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode;

There they alike in trembling hope repose,

The bosom of his Father and his God.

1418 Gray: Elegy in a Country Churchyard Epitaph

These are two friends whose lives were undivided;

So let their memory be, now they have glided
Under the grave; let not their bones be parted,
For their two hearts in life were single-hearted.

1419

Nobles and heralds, by your leave,
Here lies what once was Matthew Prior,
The son of Adam and of Eve:

Can Bourbon or Nassau claim higher?

1420

Shelley: Epitaph.

Prior: Ep. Extempore

EQUALITY.

Who can in reason, then, or right, assume
Monarchy over such as live by right
His equals, if in pow'r and splendor less,
In freedom equal?

I do not like "but yet," it does allay

The good precedence; fie upon "but yet": "But yet" is as a gaoler to bring forth Some monstrous malefactor.

1423

ERROR -see Fault.

Shaks.: Ant. and Cleo. Act ii. Sc. 5.

Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow;
He who would search for pearls must dive below.
1424

Dryden: All for Love. Prologue. Line 25.

Shall Error in the round of time Still father Truth?

1425

Tennyson: Love and Duty.

When people once are in the wrong,
Each line they add is much too long;
Who fastest walks, but walks astray,
Is only furthest from his way.

1426

Prior: Alma. Canto iii. Line 190

Error is a hardy plant; it flourisheth in every soil;
In the heart of the wise and good, alike with the wicked

and foolish;

For there is no error so crooked, but it hath in it some lines of truth.

1427 Tupper: Proverbial Phil. Of Truth in Things False Error is worse than ignorance.

1428 ETERNITY.

Bailey: Festus. Sc. A Mountain.

Beyond is all abyss,

Eternity, whose end no eye can reach. 1429

Milton: Par. Lost. Bk. xii. Line 555.

"Tis the divinity that stirs within us;

"Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man.

1430

Addison: Cato. Act v Sc. 1.

Eternity, tnou pleasing, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried beings,

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass
The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me,
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.

1431

ETIQUETTE.

Addison: Cato. Act v. Sc. j.

There's nothing in the world like etiquette

In kingly chambers, or imperial halls,
As also at the race and county balls.

1432

Byron: Don Juan. Canto v. St. 102

EVENING - see Night, Sunset, Twilight.

Now came still evening on; and twilight gray
Had in her sober livery all things clad :
Silence accompanied; for beast and bird,
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests,
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale.

1433

Milton: Par. Lost. Bk. iv. Line 598

'T'he pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night. 1434

Alexander Smith: A Life Drama. Sc. &

The sun has lost his rage, his downward orb
Shoots nothing now but animating warmth;
And vital lustre, that, with various ray,

Lights up the clouds, those beauteous robes of heaven,
Incessant roll'd into romantic shapes,

The dream of waking fancy.

1435

Thomson: Seasons. Summer. Line 1373.

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares that infest the day

Shall fold their tents like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.

1436

Longfellow: The Day is Done

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

1437

Longfellow: The Day is Done

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day;
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea;

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds.

1438

Gray: Eleyy. St.

Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;
There as I passed, with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came soften'd from below;
The swain responsive as the milkmaid suug,
The sober herd that low'd to meet their young;
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool,
The playful children just let loose from school;
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind;
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
1439

Goldsmith: Deserted Village. Line 113

Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast,
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round,
And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful evening in.

1440

Cowper: Task. Bk. iv. Line 36

Come, evening, once again, season of peace;
Return, sweet evening, and continue long!
Methinks I see thee in the streaky west,

With matron step, slow moving, while the night
Treads on thy sweeping train; one hand employ'd
In letting fall the curtain of repose

On bird and beast, the other charged for man
With sweet oblivion of the cares of day.

1441

Cowper: Task. Bk. iv. Line 243

It was an evening bright and still
As ever blush'd on wave or bower,
Smiling from heaven, as if nought ill

Could happen in so sweet an hour.

1442

Moore: Loves of Angels. Second Angel's Story.

How dear to me the hour when daylight dies,
And sunbeams melt along the silent sea,
For then sweet dreams of other days arise,
And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee.
1443

Moore: How Dear to Me the Hour

The sun is set; the swallows are asleep;
The bats are flitting fast in the gray air;
The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep;
And evening's breath, wandering here and there
Over the quivering surface of the stream,

Wakes not one ripple from its silent dream.

1444

Shelley Evening