Act iii. Sc. 1.

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.

The Mourning Bride.

Act v. Sc. xii.

For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds,
And though a late, a sure reward succeeds.

Way of the World.

Act iii. Sc. 12.

If there's delight in love, 't is when I see
The heart which others bleed for, bleed for me.

Love for Love.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

Ferdinand Mendez Pinto was but a type of thee, thou liar of the first magnitude.

NICHOLAS ROWE.

1673-1718.

The Fair Penitent.

Act ii. Sc. i.

Is she not more than painting can express,
Or youthful poets fancy when they love?

Act v. Sc. 1.

Is this that haughty, gallant, gay Lothario?

ALEXANDER POPE.

1688-1744.

ESSAY ON MAN.

Epistle i. Line 5.

Expatiate free o'er all this scene of man;
A mighty maze! but not without a plan.

Line 13.

Eye nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies,
And catch the manners living as they rise;
Laugh where we must, be candid where we can,
But vindicate the ways of God to man.*

Line 88..

A hero perish or a sparrow fall.

Line 95.

Hope springs eternal in the human breast:
Man never is, but always to be blest.

Line 99.

Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind.

Line 200.

Die of a rose in aromatic pain?

And justify the ways of God to man. - - Par. Lost, B. i. L. 26.

Essay on Man - Continued.

Line 217.

The spider's touch how exquisitely fine!
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.*

Line 289.

All nature is but art unknown to thee;

All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;
All discord, harmony not understood;

All partial evil, universal good;

And spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,
One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.

Epistle ii. Line 1.

Know then thyself, presume not God to scan;
The proper study of mankind is man.†

Line 131.

And hence one master-passion in the breast,
Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest.

Line 136.

The young disease, that must subdue at length,
Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength.

Much like a subtle spider which doth sit
In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide;
If ought do touch the utmost thread of it
She feels it instantly on every side.

Immortality of the Soul. SIR JOHN DAVIES, (1570-1626.) From Charron (de la Sagesse): -"La vraye science et le vray etude de l'homme c'est l'homme."

Essay on Man - Continued.

Line 217.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,*
As to be hated, needs but to be seen;
But seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

Line 231.

Virtuous and vicious every man must be,
Few in th' extreme, but all in the degree.

Line 276.

Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.

Line 282.

Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.

Epistle iii. Line 305.

For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight;
His can't be wrong whose life is in the right.

Epistle iv. Line 1.

O happiness! our being's end and aim!

Line 49.

Order is Heaven's first law.

Line 79.

Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense,
Lie in three words - health, peace, and competence.

*For truth has such a face and such a mien,

As to be loved needs only to be seen.

Hind and Panther. DRYDEN.

Essay on Man-Continued.

Line 168.

The soul's calm sunshine and the heartfelt joy.

Line 193.

Honor and shame from no condition rise;

Act well your part, - there all the honor lies.

Line 203.

Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow; The rest is all but leather or prunella.

Line 215.

What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards?
Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.

Line 247.

A wit's a feather, and a chief a rod;

An honest man's the noblest work of God.

Line 254.

Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart:
One self-approving hour whole years outweighs
Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas:

And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels

Than Cæsar with a senate at his heels.

Line 281.

If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shined,
The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind!
Or ravished with the whistling of a name,
See Cromwell damned to everlasting fame!