I pray thee, bear my former answer back;
Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones,
Good God! why should they mock poor fellows
thus?

The man that once did sell the lion's skin

False wave of the desert, thou art less beguiling
Than false beauty over the lighted hall shed:
What but the smiles that have practised their While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him.
smiling,

Shaks. Henry V.

Or honey words measured, and reckon'd as said. | Scorn, and defiance; slight regard, contempt, Miss Landon. And any thing that may not mis-become The mighty sender, doth he prize you at

But now I look upon thy face,
A very pictured show,
Betraying not the slightest trace

Of what may work below

I live among the cold, the false,
And I must seem like them;
And such I am, for I am falsc

As these I most condemn

I teach my lip its sweetest smile,
My tongue its softest tone;

I borrow others' likeness, till

I almost lose my own.

Ah! many hearts have changed since we two Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;

parted,

And many grown apart, as time hath sped-
Till we have almost deem'd that the true-hearted
Abided only with the faithful dead.

And some we trusted with a fond believing,
Have turn'd and stung us to the bosom's core;
And life hath seem'd but as a vain deceiving
From which we turn aside heart-sick and gore.
Mrs. C. M. Chandler.

Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too.

Shaks. Macbeth.

If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime,
Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron,
That you shall think the devil has come from hell.
Shako. King John

Thou losest labour:

As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air

Let him do his spite:

My services, which I have done the signiory,

With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed: Shall out-tongue his complaints.
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests.

Marry,

Shaks. Macbeth.

Thou dost wrong me, thou dissembler, thou;—
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword,
I fear thee not.

Shaks. Much Ado.

I pry'thee take thy fingers from my throat;
For though I am not splenetive and rash,
Yet have I in me something dangerous,

Shaks. Othello

The elements

Of whom your swords are temper'd may as well
Wound the loud winds, or with be-mocked-at stabs
Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish
One dowle that's in my plume.

Shaks. Tempest.

Let them come;

They come like sacrifices in their trim,
And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war,

Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand. All hot and bleeding, will we offer them.

Shaks. Hamlet.

Why, I will fight with him upon this theme
Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

Shaks. Hamlet.
Must give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares?
Shaks. Julius Cæsar.
Neither the king, nor him that loves him best,
The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,
Dares stir a wing, if Warwick stir his bells.
I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares.
Shaks. Henry VI. Part III.

I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,
And with the other fling it at thy face,
Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.

Shaks. Henry IV. Part I
If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest;
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.

Shaks. Richard II.
Who sets me else? by heaven I'll throw at all;
I have a thousand spirits in my breast,
To answer twenty thousand such as you.

Shaks. Richard II.

I do defy him, and I spit at him;
Call him -a slanderous coward, and a villain:
Which to maintain, I would allow him odds;
And meet him, were I ty'd to run a-foot,
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps.

Shaks. Richard II

Shaks. Henry VI. Part III. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest!
Shaks. Richard II.

My ashes, as the Phonix, may bring forth
A bird that will revenge upon you all:
And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.

Shaks. Henry VI. Part III.

What I did, I did in honour, Led by th' impartial conduct of my soul; And never shall you see, that I will beg A ragged and forestall'd remission.

Shaks. Henry IV. Part II.

Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death,
Vagabond, exile, flaying: Pent to linger
But with a grain a day, I would not buy
Their mercy at the price of one fair word.
Shaks. Coriolanus.

Behold! I have a weapon:
A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day,
That with this little arm, and this good sword,
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your stop.

Shaks. Othello.

Thou trumpet, there's my purse,

Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe:
Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek
Outswell the cholic of puff'd Aquilon:
Come stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout
blood;

Thou blow'st for Hector.

Shaks. Troilus and Cressida.
Whence and what art thou, execrable shape,
That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance
Thy miscreated front athwart my way
To yonder gates? through them I mean to pass
That be assur'd, without leave ask'd of thee:
Retire or taste thy folly, and learn by proof,
Hell-born, not to contend with spirits of heaven.
Milton's Paradise Lost.
Reckonest thou thyself with spirits of heaven,
Hell-doom'd, and breathest defiance here and scorn,
Where I reign king, and to enrage thee more,
Thy king and lord?

Milton's Paradise Lost

The blood will follow, where the knive is driven;
The flesh will quiver, where the pincers tear;
And sighs and cries by nature grow on pain:
But these are foreign to the soul: not mine
The groans that issue, or the tears that fall;
They disobey me; -on the rack I scorn thee.
Young's Revenge.

Thou think'st I fear thee, cursed reptile,
And hast a pleasure in the damned thought.
Though my heart's blood should curdle at thy A life like thine to other wretches - live!

Deep be their dye before that pledge is ransom'd-To quench his immortality,

Maturin's Bertram.

Am I to blame, if nature threw my body
In so perverse a mould! yet when she cast
Her envious hand upon my supple joints,
Unable to resist, and rumpled them

On heaps in their dark lodging; to revenge
Pierpont. Her bungled work, she stamped my mind more

Go, light the dark, cold hearth-stones-go turn the All that the others cannot, in such things
prison lock

Of the poor hearts thou hast hunted, thou wolf amid
Whittier.

Do you dare you

To taunt me with my born deformity?

Byron's Deformed Transformed
Glorious ambition!

I love thee most in dwarfs.

These are thy glorious works, parent of good,
Almighty thine this universal frame,

Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable, who sit'st above these heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly scen

Byron's Deformed Transformed. In these thy lowest works; yet these declare

Neve. aid bring forth a man without a man;
Nor could the first man, being but
The passive subject, not the active mover,
Be the maker of himself; so of necessity
There must be a superior pow'r to nature.
Tourneur's Atheist's Tragedy.

It is not so with him that all things knows,
As 'tis with us, that square our guess by shows:
But most it is presumption in us, when
The help of heav'n, we count the act of men.
Shaks. All's Well.
It did not please the gods, who instruct the people:
And their unquestion'd pleasures must be serv'd.
They know what's fitter for us, than ourselves:
And 't were impiety to think against them.

Jonson's Catiline.
"Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend
Him, as he is, is labour without end.

Herrick.

And chiefly thou, O spirit, that dost prefer,
Before all temples, the upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou know'st.

Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine.
Milton's Paradise Lost.

Beyond compare the son of God was seen
Most glorious; in him all his father shone
Substantially express'd; and in his face
Divine compassion visibly appcar'd,
Love without end, and without measure grace.
Milton's Paradise Lost.

From nature's constant or cccentric laws,

The thoughtful soul this general inference draws,
That an effect must pre-suppose a cause:
And, while she does her upward flight sustain,
Touching each link of the continued chain,
At length she is oblig'd and forc'd to see
A first, a source, a life, a deity;
What has for ever been, and must for ever be.
Prior's Soloman

Repine not, nor reply;
View not what heaven ordains with reason's eye,
Too bright the object is; the distance is too high.
The man who would resolve the work of fate,
May limit number and make crooked straight:
Stop thy inquiry then and curb thy sense,
Nor let dust argue with omnipotence.

Prior's Soloman.

In this wild maze their vain endeavours end;
How can the less the greater comprehend,
Or finite reason reach infinity?
For what could fathom God were more than He.
Dryden's Religio Laici.

Hail, source of being! universal soul
Of heaven and earth! essential presence, hail!
To thee I bend the knee; to thee my thoughts
Continual climb; who, with a master hand,
Hast the great whole into perfection touch'd.
Thomson's Seasons.

With what an awful world-revolving power
Were first the unwieldy planets launch'd along
The illimitable void! Thus to remain
Amid the flux of many thousand years,

Milton's Paradise Lost. That oft has swept the toiling race of men,

And all their labour'd monuments away,
Firm, unremitting, matchless in their course;
To the kind-temper'd change of night and day,
And of the seasons ever stealing round,
Minutely faithful: such the all-perfect hand!

For wonderful indeed are all his works,
'leasant to know, and worthiest to be all
Had in remembrance always with delight;
But what created mind can comprehend
Their number, or the wisdom infinite
That brought them forth, but hid their causes deep. That pois'd, impels, and rules the steady whole.

Milton's Paradise Lost.

Thomson's Seasons