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The desperate revelries of wild despair, Kindling their hell-born cressets, light to deeds That the poor captives would have died ere

practised,

Till bondage sunk his soul to his condition.
The Prison, Act I. Scene 3.

FAR as the eye could reach no tree was seen,
Earth, clad in russet, scorned the lively green;
No birds, except as birds of passage, flew;
No bee was heard to hum, no dove to coo;
No streams, as amber smooth, as amber clear,
Were seen to glide, or heard to warble here.
Prophecy of Famine.

'WOE to the vanquished!' was stern Brenno's word,

When sunk proud Rome beneath the Gallic sword

"Woe to the vanquished!' when his massive blade

Bore down the scale against her ransom weighed,

And on the field of foughten battle still,
Who knows no limit save the victor's will.
The Gaulliad.

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To the wild northern bog, the curlieu's haunt, Where oozes forth its first and feeble streamlet. Old Play.

A PRIEST, ye cry, a priest !-lame shepherds they,

How shall they gather in the straggling flock? Dumb dogs which bark not— - how shall they compel

The loitering vagrants to the Master's fold?
Fitter to bask before the blazing fire,
And snuff the mess neat-handed Phillis dresses,
Than on the snow-wreath battle with the wolf.'
The Reformation.

Now let us sit in conclave. That these weeds
Be rooted from the vineyard of the Church,
That these foul tares be severed from the wheat,
We are, I trust, agreed. Yet how to do this,
Nor hurt the wholesome crop and tender vine-
plants,

Craves good advisement.

The Reformation.

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Which wise men scorn and fools accept in pay ment. Old Play.

A COURTIER extraordinary, who by diet
Of meats and drinks, his temperate exercise,
Choice music, frequent bath, his horary shifts
Of shirts and waistcoats, means to immortalize
Mortality itself, and makes the essence

Of his whole happiness the trim of court.
Magnetic Lady.

Now choose thee, gallant, betwixt wealth and honor;

There lies the pelf, in sum to bear thee through
The dance of youth and the turmoil of manhood,
Yet leave enough for age's chimney-corner;
But an thou grasp to it, farewell Ambition!
Farewell each hope of bettering thy condition,
And raising thy low rank above the churls
That till the earth for bread!
Old Play.

INDIFFERENT, but indifferent-pshaw! he doth it not

Like one who is his craft's master-ne'ertheless
I have seen a clown confer a bloody coxcomb
On one who was a master of defence.
Old Play.

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THOU hast each secret of the household, Francis. I dare be sworn thou hast been in the buttery,

Steeping thy curious humor in fat ale,
And in the butler's tattle ay, or chatting
With the glib waiting-woman o'er her comfits
These bear the key to each domestic mystery.
Old Play.

THE sacred tapers' lights are gone,
Gray moss has clad the altar stone,
The holy image is o'erthrown,

The bell has ceased to toll.

The long ribbed aisles are burst and shrunk,
The holy shrines to ruin sunk,

Departed is the pious monk,
God's blessing on his soul!

Rediviva.

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AND when Love's torch hath set the heart in flame,

Comes Seignior Reason, with his saws and cautions,

Giving such aid as the old gray-beard Sexton, Who from the church-vault drags his crazy

engine,

To ply its dribbling ineffectual streamlet Against a conflagration.

Old Play.

YES, it is she whose eyes looked on thy childhood,

And watched with trembling hope thy dawn of youth,

That now, with these same eyeballs, dimmed with age,

And dimmer yet with tears, sees thy dishonor. Old Play.

IN some breasts passion lies concealed and silent, Like war's swart powder in a castle vault, Until occasion, like the linstock, lights it; Then come at once the lightning and the thunder,

And distant echoes tell that all is rent asunder. Old Play.

DEATH distant? - No, alas! he's ever with us,
And shakes the dart at us in all our actings:
He lurks within our cup while we 're in health:
Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our medicines;
We cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or travel,
But Death is by to seize us when he lists.
The Spanish Father.

Ay, Pedro, -come you here with mask and lantern,

Ladder of ropes, and other moonshine tools Why, youngster, thou mayst cheat the old Ďuenna,

Flatter the waiting-woman, bribe the valet;
But know, that I her father play the Gryphon,
Tameless and sleepless, proof to fraud or bribe,
And guard the hidden treasure of her beauty.
The Spanish Father.

IT is a time of danger, not of revel,
When churchmen turn to masquers.
The Spanish Father.

Ay, sir― our ancient crown, in these wild times,
Oft stood upon a cast - the gamester's ducat,
So often staked and lost and then regained,
Scarce knew so many hazards.

The Spanish Father.

From Kenilworth

NOT serve two masters? - Here's a youth will try it

Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due; Says grace before he doth a deed of villany, And returns his thanks devoutly when 't is acted.

Old Play.

He was a man Versed in the world as pilot in his compass. The needle pointed ever to that interest Which was his loadstar, and he spread his sails With vantage to the gale of others' passion.

The Deceiver, a Tragedy.

THIS is he Who rides on the court-gale; controls its tides;

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