The rule, get money, still get money, boy,
No matter by what means.
Ben Jonson: Every Man in his H. Act ii. Sc. 3.
And hence one master passion in the breast,
Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest.
274
Pope: Essay on Man. Epis. ii. Line 131.
Riches, like insects, when conceal'd they lie,
Wait but for wings, and in their season fly.
275
Pope: Moral Essays. Epis. iii. Line 169.
Wealth in the gross is death, but life diffus'd,
As poison heals, in just proportion us'd;
In heaps, like ambergris, a stink it lies,
But well dispers'd, is incense to the skies.
276
Pope: Moral Essays. Epis. iii. Line 233.
'Tis strange the miser should his cares employ
To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy;
Is it less strange the prodigal should waste
His wealth to purchase what he ne'er can taste?
277
Pope: Moral Essays. Epis. iv. Line 1.
The lust of gold succeeds the rags of conquest:
The lust of gold, unfeeling and remorseless!
The last corruption of degenerate man.
Dr. Johnson: Irene. Act i. Sc. 1.
A thirst for gold,
The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm
The meanest hearts.
Byron: Vision of J. St. 43.
Byron: Don Juan. Canto i. St. 216.
So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, I think I must take up with avarice. 280
AWKWARDNESS.
Awkward, embarrassed, stiff, without the skill
Of moving gracefully, or standing still,
One leg, as if suspicious of his brother,
Lesirous seems to run away from t'other.
281
Churchill: Rosciad. Line 438
What's a fine person, or a beauteous face,
Unless deportment gives them decent grace?
Bless'd with all other requisites to please,
Some want the striking elegance of ease;
The curious eye their awkward movement tires;
They seem like puppets led about by wires.
282
Churchill: Rosciad. Line 741
The music, and the banquet, and the wine-
The garlands, the rose-odors, and the flowers
The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments —
The white arms and the raven hair the braids
And bracelets-swan-like bosoms, and the necklace,
An India itself, yet dazzling not
The eye like what it circled; the thin robes,
Floating like light clouds 'twixt our gaze and heaven.
283
Byron Mar. Faliero. Act iv. Sc. 1
I saw her at a county ball;
There when the sound of flute and fiddle
Gave signal sweet in that old hall,
Of hands across and down the middle.
Hers was the subtlest spell by far
Of all that sets young hearts romancing;
She was our queen, our rose, our star;
And then she danced-oh, heaven, her dancing!
Praed: Belle of the Ball-Room. St. 2
O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: How hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
To mangle me with that word - banished?
285
Shaks.: Rom. and Jul. Act iii. Sc. 3.
In scarlet clusters o'er the gray stone-wall
The barberries lean in thin autumnal air:
Just when the fields and garden-plots are bare,
And ere the green leaf takes the tint of fall,
They come to make the eye a festival!
Along the road, for miles, their torches flare.
T. B. Aldrich: Barberries, Sonnet vii
BARGAIN - see Commerce, Trade.
I'll give thrice so much land
To any well-deserving friend;
But in the way of bargain, mark ye me,
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.
287
Shaks.: 1 Henry IV. Act iii. Sc. 1.
Of all our parts, the eyes express The sweetest kind of bashfulness. 288
Herrick: Aph. Bashfulness.
To get thine ends, lay bashfulness aside;
Who fears to ask, doth teach to be deny'd.
Herrick: Aph. No Bashfulness in Begging.
I pity bashful men, who feel the pain
Of fancied scorn, and undeserv'd disdain,
And bear the marks upon a blushing face,
Of needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace.
290
Cowper: Conversation. Line 347.
So bright the tear in beauty's eye,
Love half regrets to kiss it dry;
So sweet the blush of bashfulness,
E'en pity scarce can wish it less.
Byron: Bride of Ab. Canto i. St. 8.
see Soldiers, War.
This day hath made
Much work for tears in many an English mother,
Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground.
Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
Coldly embracing the discolor'd earth.
Shaks.: King John. Act ii. Sc. 2.
The cannons have their bowels full of wrath;
And ready mounted are they, to spit forth
Their iron indignation.
Shaks.: King John. Act ii. Sc. 1.
If we are marked to die, we are enow
To do our country loss;
The fewer men the greater share of honor.
Shaks.: Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 3.
Levell❜d his deadly aim; their fatal hands
No second stroke intend.
Milton: Par. Lost. Bk. ii. Line 711
Those that fly may fight again,
Which he can never do that's slain.1
Butler: Hudibras. Pt. iii. Canto iii. Line 243,
1 See Notes tracing the pedigree of this distich and its parallels, in Hudi bras, Ed. Bohn, pp. 106 and 403.
When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war;
The labored battle sweat, and conquest bled.
Nathaniel Lee: Alex. the Great. Act iv. Sc. 2
Behold in awful march and dread array
The long-expected squadrons shape their way!
Death, in approaching, terrible, imparts
An anxious horror to the bravest hearts;
Yet do their beating breasts demand the strife,
And thirst of glory quells the love of life.
Addison Campaign. Line 259
A thousand glorious actions, that might claim
Triumphant laurels, and immortal fame,
Confus'd in crowds of glorious actions lie,
And troops of heroes undistinguish'd die.
299
'Twas blow for blow, disputing inch by inch,
For one would not retreat, nor t' other flinch.
300
Byron: Don Juan. Canto viii. St. 77.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host, with their banners, at sunset were seen;
Like the leaves of the forest, when Autumn hath blown,
That host, on the morrow, lay wither'd and strown!
Byron: Destruction of Sennacherib.
Addison Campaign. Line 304.
But when all is past, it is humbling to tread
O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead,
And see worms of the earth and fowls of the air,
And beasts of the forest, all gathering there;
All regarding man as their prey,
All rejoicing in his decay.
Byron: Siege of Cor. St. 17.
Hark to the trump, and the drum,
And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn,
And the flap of the banners, that flit as they're borne,
And the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum,'
And the clash, and the shout "they come, they come!"
Byron: Siege of Cor. St. 22
Hand to hand, and foot to foot:
Nothing there, save death, was mute;
Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry
For quarter, or for victory
Mingle there with the volleying thunder.
304
Byron: Siege of Cor. St. 24
No dread of death
Save that it seems even duller than repose:
Come when it will
When lost- what recks it
305
if with us die our foes
we snatch the life of life
Byron; Corsair. Canto i. St. 1
The conflict grew; the din of arms, the yell
Of savage rage, the shriek of agony,
The groan of death, commingled in one sound
Of undistinguish'd horrors.
Southey: Madoc. Pt. ii. The Battle
Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer. 307
Shaks.: Troilus and Cress. Act i. Sc. 2
His tawny beard was th' equal grace
Both of his wisdom and his face;
In cut and die so like a tile,
A sudden view it would beguile;
The upper part thereof was whey;
The nether, orange mix'd with grey.
308
BEAUTY
Butler: Hudibras. Pt. i. Canto i. Line 241
- see Loveliness, Merit, Ornament.
Oh, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem,
For that sweet odor which doth in it live.
309
My beauty, though but mean,
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise;
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues.
310
Shaks.: Love's L. Lost. Act ii. Sc. 1.
For where is any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye? 311
Shaks.: Love's L. Lost. Act iv. Sc. 3.
Her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece.
312
There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple;
If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with it.
313
Shaks.: M. of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.
Shaks.: Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.
Shaks.: Venus and A. 485.
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumin'd with her eye.
314
'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive,
If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.
Shaks.: Tw. Night. Act i. Sc. 5
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