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Or impotent, or, else approving, sees Hate, unbelief, and blasphemy of God; The foul disorder. Senseless and deform'd, Envy and slander, malice and revenge; Convulsive Anger storms at large; or, pale And murder, and deceit, and every birth, And silent, settles into fell revenge.

Of damned sort, was progeny of pride.
Base Envy withers at another's joy, It was the ever-moving, acting force,
And hates that excellence it cannot reach. The constant aim and the most thirsty wish
Desponding Fear, of feeble fancies full, Of every singer unrenewed to be
Weak and unmanly, loosens every power. A god; in purple or in rags, to have
Even Love itself is bitterness of soul, Himself adored. Whatever shape or form
A pensive anguish pining at the heart; His actions took, whatever phrase he threw
Or sunk to sordid interest, feels no more About his thoughts, or mantle o'er his life,
That noble wish, that never cloy'd desire, To be the highest was the inward cause
Which, selfish joy disdaining, seeks alone Of all; the purpose of the heart to be
To bless the dearest object of its flame. Set up, admired, obeyed.
Hope sickens with extravagance; and

Grief,
Of life impatient, into madness swells,
Or in dead silence wastes the weeping hours.

AMBITION.

P. FLETCHER.

These, and a thousand mixed emotions

more,
From everchanging views of good and ill,
Form'd infinitely various, vex the mind
With endless storm; whence deeply rank-

ling, grows
The partial thought, a listless unconcern,
Cold and averting from our neighbour's good,
Then dark Disgust, and Hatred, minding

Wiles,
Coward Deceit, and ruffian Violence :
At last, extinct each social feeling, fell
And joyless inhumanity pervades
And petrifies the heart. Nature, disturb'd,
Is deem'd, vindictive, to have chang'd her

course.

NEXT brave Pbilotimus in post did ride,
Like rising ladders was his climbing mind;
His high-flown thoughts, bad wings of

courtly pride,
Which by foul rise to greatest height in.

clin'd; His heart aspiring swellid until it burst; But when he gain'd the top, with spite

accurst, Down would he fling the steps by which he

clamber'd first.

His head's a shop furnish'd with looms of

state: His brain the weaver, thoughts are shut

tles light, With which, in spite of heav'n, he weaves

his fate; Honour his web: thus works he day and

night, Till fates cut off his thread; so heapeth

sins, And plagues, nor once enjoys the place

he wins; But where his old race ends, there his new

race begins.

PRIDE.

POLLOK.

Pride, self-adoring pride, was primal cause
Of all sin past, all pain, all wo to come.
Inconquerable pride! first, eldest Sin,
Great fountain-head of evil! highest source,
Whence flowed rebellion 'gainst the Omni-

potent,
Whence hate of man to man, and all else ill.
Pride at the bottom of the human heart
Lay, and gave root and nourishment to all
That grew above. Great ancestor of vice!

Ah, silly man, who dream'st that honour

stands In ruling others, not thyself !-thy slaves Serve thee, and thou thy slaves :-in iron

bands

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did sitt.

W RATH.

SPENSER.

AND him beside rides fierce revenging

Wrath
Upon a livn, loth for to be led;

And in his hand a burning brond he hath, Yet both his shield and guard (faini heart)
The which he brandisheth about his hed: suspected :
His eyes did hurle forth sparcles fiery red, And sending often back his doubtfal eye,
And stared sterne on all that him beheld, By fearing, taught unthought of treachery;
As ashes pale of bew, and seeming ded; So made him enemies, by fearing enmity.

And on his dagger still his hand he held, Trembling through hasty rage when choler Still did he louk for some ensuing cross, in him sweld.

Fearing such hap as never man befell :

No mean he knows, but dreads each little His ruffin raiment all was staind with

loss blood

(With tyranny of fear distraught) as hell. Which he had spilt, and all to rags yrent;

His sense he dare not trust, (nor eyes, nor Through unadvized rashness woxen wood, ears); For of his hands he had no government,

And when no other cause of fright appears, Ne card for blood in his avengement: Himself he much suspects, and fears his But when the furious fitt was overpast,

causeless fears. His cruel facts he often would repent;

Yet (wilful man) he never would forecast Harness'd with massy steel, for fence, not How many mischiefs should ensue his beed- fight lesse haste.

His sword unseemly long he ready drew:

At sudden shine of his own armour bright Full many mischiefs follow cruell wrath ; He started oft, and star'd with ghastly Abhorred bloodshed, and tumultuous strife,

hue : Unmanly murder, and unthrifty scath, He shrieks at ev'ry danger that appears, Bitter despight, with rancours rusty knife, Shaming the knightly arms he goodly And fretting griefe, the enemy of life :

bears : All these, and many evils moe, haunt ire, His word: Safer, that all, than he that The swelling splene,and frenzy raging rife, nothing fears. The shaking palsey, and Saint Fraunces'

fire, Such one was Wrath, the fifth of this an

DOUBT. godly tire.

P. FLETCHER.
With him went Doubt, staggøring with

steps unsure ;

That every way and neither way inclin'd; FEAR.

And fond Distrust, whom nothing could P. FLETCHER.

secure:

Suspicion lean, as if he never din'd: Next to the captain coward Deilos far'd

He keeps intelligence by thousand spies: Him right before he as his shield projected, Argus to him bequeath'd his hundred eyes: And following troops to back him as his So waking, still he sleeps, and sleeping, guard ;

wakeful lies.

CONTRARITIES IN MAN.

YOUNG.

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
How complicate, how wonderful is man!
How passing wonder He who made him such!

Who center'd in our make such strange extremes
From different natures marvellously mix’d,
Connexion exquisite of distant worlds !
Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain !
Midway from nothing to the Deity!
A beam ethereal, sullied and absorpt !
Though sullied and dishonour'd, still divine !
Dim miniature of greatness absolute !
An heir of glory! a frail child of dust :
Helpless immortal! insect infinite !
A worm! a god! I tremble at myself,
And in myself am lost. At home, a stranger,
Thought wanders up and down, surpris'd aghast,
And wondering at ber own. How reason reels !
O what a miracle to man is man!
Triumphantly distress'd! what joy! what dread!
Alternately transported and alarm’d!
What can preserve my life, or what destroy!
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave;
Legions of angels can't confine me there.

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