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69. The love of praise, howe'er conceal’d by art,
70. Thus with the year
71. Now storming fury rose,
72. Then let's say, you are sad, Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy For to laugh, and leap, and say, you're merry, Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time: Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh, like parrots, at a bagpiper; And others of such vinegar aspect, That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
73. What would you have, you curs, That like not peace nor war? The one affrights you, The other makes you proud. He that trusts you, Where he should find you lions, finds you hares ; Where foxes, geese: you are no surer, no, Than is the coal of fire upon the ice, Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is, To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him, And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness, Deserves your hate ; and
affections are A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil. He that depends Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead, And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye? With every
you do change a mind; And call him noble, that was now your hate ; Him vile, that was your garland.
74. 'Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world: Now could I drink hot blood, And do such business as the better day Would quake to look on. Soft: now to my mother.O heart ! lose not thy nature ; let not ever The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : Let me be cruel, not unnatural : I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
75. 'Would he were fatter :-but I fear him not :
76. There is a tide in the affairs of men,
77. I had rather be a kitten, and cry-mew,
78. 'Tis Slander, Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous Slander enters.
79. Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand,
80. True ease, in writing, comes from art, not chance;
81. All dark, and comfortless !
What words can sound my grief?
82, O blest retirement! friend to life's decline ! Retreat from care—that never must be mine! How bless'd is he, who crowns, in shades like these, A youth of labour with an age of ease; Who quits a world where strong temptations try, And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly. For him no wretches born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; No surly porter stands, in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from his gate: But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue's friend; Sinks to the grave, with unperceiv'd decay, While resignation gently slopes the way; And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past
83. As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night! O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light, When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene; Around her throne the vivid planets roll, And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole, O'er the dark trees a yellow verdure shed, And tip with silver every mountain's head; Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, A flood of glory bursts from all the skies : The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight, Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light.
84. Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumb’ring world. Silence, how dead ! and darkness how profound ! Nor eye nor list'ning ear an object finds : Creation sleeps. 'Tis as if the gen’ral pulse Of life stood still, and nature made a pause, An awful pause, prophetic of her end.