or pay their money with a peevish anxiety, and endeavour at once to spend idly, and to save meanly: having neither firmness to deny their passions, nor courage to gratify them, they murmur at their own enjoyments, and poison the bowl of pleasure by reflection on the cost.-Johnson. MCXCVII.

Thinking itself is a kind of pain to a witty man; he finds so much more in it to disquiet than to please him. -Letter to the Earl of Rochester-Dryden.

MCXCVIII.

Let me not live,

After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
Mere fathers of their garments: whose constancies
Expire before their passions.
Shakspeare.

МСХСІХ.

Having only one hope, the accomplishment of it, of consequence, must put an end to all my hopes; and what a wretch is he who must survive his hopes! nothing remains when that day comes, but to sit down and weep like Alexander, when he wanted other worlds to conquer.-Congreve.

MCC.

To promise better at the next we bring,
Prorogues disgrace, commends not any thing.
Stiffly to stand on this, and proudly t'approve
The play might tax the maker of self-love.
I'll only speak what I have heard him say,
By -'tis good, and if you like 't you may.
Epilogue to Cynthia's Revels-Ben Jonson

MCCI.

Without good company, all dainties

Lose their true relish, and like painted grapes,

Are only seen, not tasted.

Massinger.

MCCII.

Any one may do a casual act of good-nature, but a continuation of them shows it is a part of the tempera- ' ture.-Sterne.

MCCIII.

A sponge soaks up the king's countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the king best service in the end: he keeps them like an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouth'd, to be last swallow'd: when he needs what you have glean'd, it is but squeezing you, and sponge, you shall be dry again.Shakspeare.

MCCIV.

Stay at home and take an old man's counsel;
Seek not to bask you by a stranger's hearth;
Our own blue smoke is warmer than their fire.
Domestic food is wholesome, though 'tis homely;
And foreign dainties poisonous, though tasteful.
The French Courtezan.

MCCV.

Fancy restrained may be compared to a fountain, which plays highest by diminishing the aperture.— Goldsmith.

MCCVI.

Naturally, men are prone to spin themselves a web of opinions out of their own brain, and to have a religion that may be called their own. Men are far readier to make themselves a faith, than to receive that which God hath formed to their hands, and they are far readier to receive a doctrine that tends to their carnal commodity, or honour or delights, than one that tends to self denial.-Baxter.

MCCVII.

Wisdom is the olive that springeth from the heart, bloometh on the tongue, and beareth fruit in the actions. -E. Grymestone-1604.

MCCVIII.

How use doth breed a habit in a man!
The shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,

I better brook than flourishing peopled towns:
There can I sit alone, unseen of any,
And to the nightingale's complaining notes
Tune my distresses, and record my woes.
O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless;
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall,
And leave no memory of what it was.

MCCIX.

Shakspeare.

Time, place, and action, may with pains be wrought, But genius must be born, and never can be taught. This is your portion, and this your native store; Heaven, that but once was prodigal before,

To Shakspeare gave as much, she could not give him

more.

Maintain your post; that's all the fame you need,

For 'tis impossible you should proceed.

MCCX.

Dryden-to Congreve.

Should Lysippus satisfy his creditors, who would be at the pains of telling it to the world? Generosity is a virtue of a very different complexion. It is raised above duty, and from its elevation attracts the attention and the praises of us little mortals below.-Goldsmith,

MCCXI.

How sour sweet music is,

When time is broke, and no proportion kept!
So is it in the musick of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear,
To check time broke in a disorder'd string;
But, for the concord of my state and time,
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock:
My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar
Their watches on to my eyes, the outward watch,

Where to my finger, like a dial's point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now, Sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is,
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell: so sighs, and tears, and groans,
Show minutes, times, and hours.

K. Richard II-Shakspeare.

MCCXII.

Proteus.-Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,
The picture that is hanging in your chamber:
To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep:
For, since the substance of your perfect self
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow:
And to your shadow I'll make true love.

Julia.-If'twere a substance, you would sure deceive it,

And make it but a shadow, as I am.

Silvia.-I am very loth to be your idol, Sir;

But, since your falsehood shall become you well
To worship shadows, and adore false shapes,
Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it:

And so, good rest.

Proteus. As wretches have o'er night,

That wait for execution in the morn.

[Aside.

Two Gentlemen of Verona-Shakspeare.

MCCXIII.

God takes men's hearty desires and will, instead of the deed, where they have not power to fulfil it; but he never took the bare deed instead of the will.-Baxter.

MCCXIV.

Take heed of pride, and curiously consider,
How brittle the foundation is, on which
You labour to advance it. Niobe,

Proud of her numerous issue, durst contemn
Latona's double burthen; but what follow'd?

She was left a childless mother, and mourn'd to marble.
The beauty you o'erprize so, time or sickness
Can change to loath'd deformity; your wealth

VOL. II.

C c

The prey of thieves; Queen Hecuba, Troy fired,
Ulysses' bondwoman.

MCCXV.

As there is music uninform'd by art

Massinger,

In those wild notes which, with a merry heart,
The birds in unfrequented shades express,
Who, better taught at home, yet please us less;
So in your verse a native sweetness dwells,
Which shames composure, and its art excels.
Singing no more can your soft numbers grace
Than paint add charms unto a beauteous face.
Yet as when mighty rivers gently creep,

Their even calmness does suppose them deep;
Such is your muse; no metaphor swell'd high
With dangerous boldness lifts her to the sky:
Those mountain fancies, when they fall again,
Show sand and dirt at bottom do remain.
So firm a strength, and yet withal so sweet
Did never but in Sampson's riddle meet.
'Tis strange each line so great a weight should bear,
And yet no sign of toil, no sweat appear.
Either your art hides art, as stoics feign

Then least to feel when most they suffer pain;
And we, dull souls, admire, but cannot see
What hidden springs within the engine be:
Or 'tis some happiness that still pursues
Each act and motion of your grateful muse.

To Sir R. Howard.-Dryden.

MCCXVI.

Ceremony resembles that base coin which circulates through a country by the royal mandate; it serves every purpose of real money at home; but it is entirely useless if carried abroad: a person who should attempt to circulate his native trash in another country, would be thought either ridiculous or culpable. He is truly well bred who knows when to value and when to despise those national peculiarities which are regarded by some with so much observance. A traveller of taste at once