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Our traveller, labouring up a hill, look'd down
Upon a lively, busy, pleasant town;
All he beheld were there alert, alive,
The busiest bees that ever stock'd a hive :
A pair were married, and the bells aloud
Proclaim'd their joy, and joyful seem'd the crowd;
And now proceeding on his way, he spied,
Bound by strong ties, the bridegroom and the

Each by some friends attended, near they drew,
And spleen beheld them with prophetic view.
"Married! nay, mad!" Orlando cried in scorn;
Another wretch on this unlucky morn :
What are this foolish mirth, these idle joys?
Attempts to stifle doubt and fear by noise:
To me these robes, expressive of delight,
Foreshow distress, and only grief excite;
And for these cheerful friends, will they behold
Their wailing brood in sickness, want, and cold;
And his proud look, and her soft languid air
Will-but I spare you-go, unhappy pair!"

And now approaching to the journey's end,
His anger fails, his thoughts to kindness tend,
He less offended feels, and rather fears t' offend:
Now gently rising, hope contends with doubt,
And casts a sunshine on the views without;
And still reviving joy and lingering gloom
Alternate empire o'er his soul assume;
Till, long perplex'd, he now began to find
The softer thoughts engross the settling mind:
He saw the mansion, and should quickly see
His Laura's self-and angry could he be?
No! the resentment melted all away.
"For this my grief a single smile will pay,"
Our traveller cried; "and why should it offend,
That one so good should have a pressing friend?
Grieve not, my heart! to find a favourite guest
Thy pride and boast-ye selfish sorrows, rest;
She will be kind, and I again be blest."

While gentler passions thus his bosom sway'd,
He reach'd the mansion, and he saw the maid;
"My Laura!"-"My Orlando! this is kind;
In truth I came persuaded, not inclined:
Our friends' amusement let us now pursue,
And I to-morrow will return with you."
Like man entranced, the happy lover stood-
"As Laura wills, for she is kind and good:
Ever the truest, gentlest, fairest, best—
As Laura wills, I see her and am blest."

Home went the lovers through that busy place,
By Loddon Hall, the country's pride and grace;
By the rich meadows where the oxen fed, [bed;
Through the green vale that form'd the river's
And by unnumber'd cottages and farms,

And last the heath with all its various bloom,
And the close lanes that led the traveller home.
Then could these scenes the former joys renew?
Or was there now dejection in the view?
Nor one or other would they yield—and why?
The mind was absent, and the vacant eye
Wander'd o'er viewless scenes, that but appear'd
to die.



Seem they grave or learned?

Why, so didst thou-Seem they religious?
Why, so didst thou; or are they spare in diet,
Free from gross passion, or of mirth or anger,
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,
Garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment,
Not working with the eye without the ear,
And but with purged judgment trusting neither ?
Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem.
Henry V. act ii. sc. 2.

Better I were distract,

So should my thoughts be sever'd from tuy griefs,
And woes by strong imagination lose
The knowledge of themselves.

Lear, act iv. sc. 6.

GENIUS! thou gift of Heaven! thou light divine!
Amid what dangers art thou doom'd to shine!
Oft will the body's weakness check thy force,
Oft damp thy vigour, and impede thy course;
And trembling nerves compel thee to restrain
Thy nobler efforts, to contend with pain;
Or Want (sad guest!) will in thy presence come,
And breathe around a melancholy gloom;
To life's low cares will thy proud thought confine,
And make her sufferings, her impatience, thine.
Evil and strong, seducing passions prey
On soaring minds, and win them from their way;
Who then to vice the subject spirits give,
And in the service of the conqueror live;
Like captive Samson making sport for all
Who fear'd their strength, and glory in their fall.
Genius, with virtue, still may lack the aid
Implored by humble minds and hearts afraid;
May leave to timid souls the shield and sword
Of the tried faith, and the resistless word;
Amid a world of dangers venturing forth,
Frail, but yet fearless, proud in conscious worth,
Till strong temptation, in some fatal time,
Assails the heart, and wins the soul to crime;
When left by honour, and by sorrow spent,

That have for musing minds unnumber'd charms; Unused to pray, unable to repent,

And how affected by the view of these
Was then Orlando did they pain or please?

Nor pain nor pleasure could they yield-and

The mind was fill'd, was happy, and the eye
Roved o'er the fleeting views, that but appear'd to

Alone Orlando on the morrow paced
The well-known road; the gipsy tent he traced;
The dam high-raised, the reedy dikes between,
The scatter'd hovels on the barren green,
The burning sand, the fields of thin-set rye,
Mock'd by the useless Flora, blooming by;

The nobler powers that once exalted high
Th' aspiring man, shall then degraded lie:
Reason, through anguish, shall her throne forsake,
And strength of mind but stronger madness make.
When Edward Shore had reach'd his twentieth


He felt his bosom light, his conscience clear;
Applause at school the youthful hero gain'd,
And trials there with manly strength sustain'd:
With prospects bright upon the world he came,
Pure love of virtue, strong desire of fame :
Men watch'd the way his lofty mind would take,
And all foretold the progress he would make.

Boast of these friends, to older men a guide, Proud of his parts, but gracious in his pride; He bore a gay good nature in his face, And in his air were dignity and grace; Dress that became his state and years he wore, And sense and spirit shone in Edward Shore. Thus while admiring friends the youth beheld, His own disgust their forward hopes repell'd; For he unfix'd, unfixing, look'd around, And no employment but in seeking found; He gave his restless thoughts to views refined, And shrank from worldly cares with wounded mind.


Rejecting trade, a while he dwelt on laws,

'But who could plead, if unapproved the cause?"
A doubting, dismal tribe physicians seem'd ;
Divines o'er texts and disputations dream'd;
War and its glory he perhaps could love,
But there again he must the cause approve.

Our hero thought no deed should gain applause,
Where timid virtue found support in laws;
He to all good would soar, would fly all sin,
By the pure prompting of the will within ;
"Who needs a law that binds him not to steal,"
Ask'd the young teacher, "can he rightly feel?
To curb the will, or arm in honour's cause,
Or aid the weak, are these enforced by laws?
Should we a foul, ungenerous action dread,
Because a law condemns th' adulterous bed?
Or fly pollution, not for fear of stain,
But that some statute tells us to refrain?
The grosser herd in ties like these we bind,
In virtue's freedom moves th' enlighten'd mind."
"Man's heart deceives him," said a friend.
Replied the youth, " but, has it power to force?
Unless it forces, call it as you will,
It is but wish and proneness to the ill."


"Art thou not tempted ?"- Do I fall?" said Shore. "The pure have fallen."-" Then are pure no more: While reason guides me, I shall walk aright, Nor need a steadier hand, or stronger light; Nor this in dread of awful threats, design'd For the weak spirit and the grovelling mind; But that, engaged by thoughts and views sublime, I wage free war with grossness and with crime." Thus look'd he proudly on the vulgar crew, Whom statutes govern, and whom fears subdue. Faith, with his virtue, he indeed profess'd, But doubts deprived his ardent mind of rest; Reason, his sovereign mistress, fail'd to show Light through the mazes of the world below; Questions arose, and they surpass'd the skill Of his sole aid, and would be dubious still; These to discuss he sought no common guide, But to the doubters in his doubts applied; When all together might in freedom speak, And their loved truth with mutual ardour seek. Alas! though men who feel their eyes decay, Take more than common pains to find their way, Yet, when for this they ask each other's aid, Their mutual purpose is the more delay'd: Of all their doubts, their reasoning clear'd not one, Still the same spots were present in the sun; Still the same scruples haunted Edward's mind, Who found no rest, nor took the means to find. But though with shaken faith, and slave to fame, Vain and aspiring on the world he came ;

Yet was he studious, serious, moral, grave,
No passion's victim, and no system's slave;
Vice he opposed, indulgence he disdain'd,
And o'er each sense in conscious triumph reign'd.
Who often reads will sometimes wish to write,
And Shore would yield instruction and delight:
A serious drama he design'd, but found
'Twas tedious travelling in that gloomy ground;
A deep and solemn story he would try,
But grew ashamed of ghosts, and laid it by ;
Sermons he wrote, but they who knew his creed,
Or knew it not, were ill disposed to read;
And he would lastly be the nation's guide,
But, studying, fail'd to fix upon a side ;
Fame he desired, and talents he possess'd,
But loved not labour, though he could not rest,
Nor firmly fix the vacillating mind,
That, ever working, could no centre find.

"Tis thus a sanguine reader loves to trace
The Nile forth rushing on his glorious race ;
Calm and secure the fancied traveller goes,
Through sterile deserts and by threatening foes;
He thinks not then of Afric's scorching sands,
Th' Arabian sea, the Abyssinian bands;
Fasils and Michaels, and the robbers all,
Whom we politely chiefs and heroes call:
He of success alone delights to think,
He views that fount, he stands upon the brink,
And drinks a fancied draught, exulting so to drink.
In his own room, and with his books around,
His lively mind its chief employment found;
Then idly busy, quietly employ'd,

And, lost to life, his visions were enjoy'd;
Yet still he took a keen, inquiring view
Of all that crowds neglect, desire, pursue;
And thus abstracted, curious, still serene,
He, unemploy'd, beheld life's shifting scene;
Still more averse from vulgar joys and cares.
Still more unfitted for the world's affairs.

There was a house where Edward ofttimes went,
And social hours in pleasant trifling spent;
He read, conversed and reason'd, sang and play'd,
And all were happy while the idler stay'd ;
Too happy one, for thence arose the pain,
Till this engaging trifler came again.

But did he love? We answer, day by day, The loving feet would take th' accustom'd way, The amorous eye would rove as if in quest Of something rare, and on the mansion rest; The same soft passion touch'd the gentle tongue, And Anna's charms in tender notes were sung; The ear, too, seem'd to feel the common flame, Soothed and delighted with the fair one's name : And thus as love each other part possess'd, The heart, no doubt, its sovereign power confess'd. Pleased in her sight, the youth required no more; Nor rich himself, he saw the damsel poor; And he too wisely, nay, too kindly loved, To pain the being whom his soul approved.

* Fasil was a rebel chief, and Michael the general of the royal army in Abyssinia, when Mr. Bruce visited that country. In all other respects their characters were nearly similar. They are both represented as cruel and treacherous; and even the apparently strong distinction of loyal and rebellious is in a great measure set aside when we are informed that Fasil was an open enemy, and Michael an insolent and ambitious controller of the royal person and family.

A serious friend our cautious youth possess'd,
And at his table sat a welcome guest;
Both unemploy'd, it was their chief delight
To read what free and daring authors write;
Authors who loved from common views to soar,
And seek the fountains never traced before;
Truth they profess'd, yet often left the true
And beaten prospect, for the wild and new.
His chosen friend his fiftieth year had seen,
His fortune easy, and his air serene;
Deist and atheist call'd; for few agreed
What were his notions, principles, or creed ;
His mind reposed not, for he hated rest,
But all things made a query or a jest;
Perplex'd himself, he ever sought to prove
That man is doom'd in endless doubt to rove;
Himself in darkness he profess'd to be,
And would maintain that not a man could see.
The youthful friend, dissentient, reason'd still
Of the soul's prowess, and the subject will;
Of virtue's beauty, and of honour's force,
And a warm zeal gave life to his discourse:
Since from his feelings all his fire arose,
And he had interest in the themes he chose.
The friend, indulging a sarcastic smile,
Said, "Dear enthusiast! thou wilt change thy style,
When man's delusions, errors, crimes, deceit,
No more distress thee, and no longer cheat."
Yet lo! this cautious man, so coolly wise,
On a young beauty fix'd unguarded eyes;
And her he married: Edward at the view
Bade to his cheerful visits long adieu;
But haply err'd, for this engaging bride
No mirth suppress'd, but rather cause supplied:
And when she saw the friends, by reasoning long,
Confused if right, and positive if wrong,
With playful speech and smile, that spoke delight,
She made them careless both of wrong or right.
This gentle damsel gave consent to wed,
With school, and school-day dinners in her head:
She now was promised choice of daintiest food,
And costly dress, that made her sovereign good;
With walks on hilly heath to banish spleen,
And summer visits when the roads were clean.
All these she loved, to these she gave consent,
And she was married to her heart's content.
Their manner this; the friends together read,
Till books a cause for disputation bred;
Debate then follow'd, and the vapour'd child
Declared they argued till her head was wild;
And strange to her it was that mortal brain
Could seek the trial, or endure the pain.

Then as the friend reposed, the younger pair
Sat down to cards, and play'd beside his chair;
Till he, awaking, to his books applied,
Or heard the music of th' obedient bride;
If mild the evening, in the fields they stray'd,
And their own flock with partial eye survey'd ;
But oft the husband, to indulgence prone,
Resumed his book, and bade them walk alone.

Do, my kind Edward! I must take mine ease,
Name the dear girl the planets and the trees;
Tell her what warblers pour their evening song,
What insects flutter, as you walk along ;
Teach her to fix the roving thoughts, to bind
The wandering sense, and methodize the mind."
This was obey'd; and oft when this was done,
They calmly gazed on the declining sun;

In silence saw the glowing landscape fade,
Or, sitting, sang beneath the arbour's shade:
Till rose the moon, and on each youthful face
Shed a soft beauty, and a dangerous grace.

When the young wife beheld in long debate The friends, all careless as she seeming sate; It soon appear'd, there was in one combined The nobler person and the richer mind; He wore no wig, no grizzly beard was seen, And none beheld him careless or unclean; Or watch'd him sleeping: we indeed have heard Of sleeping beauty, and it has appear'd ; "Tis seen in infants; there indeed we find The features soften'd by the slumbering mind; But other beauties, when disposed to sleep, Should from the eye of keen inspector keep; The lovely nymph who would her swain surprise May close her mouth, but not conceal her eyes; Sleep from the fairest face some beauty takes, And all the homely features homelier makes; So thought our wife, beholding with a sigh Her sleeping sponse, and Edward smiling by. A sick relation for the husband sent, Without delay the friendly skeptic went; Nor fear'd the youthful pair, for he had seen The wife untroubled, and the friend serene ; No selfish purpose in his roving eyes, No vile deception in her fond replies: So judged the husband, and with judgment true, For neither yet the guilt or danger knew.

What now remain'd? but they again should play Th' accustom'd game, and walk th' accustom'd way;

With careless freedom should converse or read,
And the friend's absence neither fear nor heed;
But rather now they seem'd confused, constrain'd,
Within their room still restless they remain'd,
And painfully they felt, and knew each other

Ah! foolish men! how could ye thus depend,
One on himself, the other on his friend?

The youth with troubled eye the lady saw,
Yet felt too brave, too daring to withdraw;
While she, with tuneless hand the jarring keys
Touching, was not one moment at her ease:
Now would she walk, and call her friendly guide
Now speak of rain, and cast her cloak aside;
Seize on a book, unconscious what she read,
And, restless still, to new resources fled;
Then laugh'd aloud, then tried to look serene,
And ever changed, and every change was seen.
Painful it is to dwell on deeds of shame;
The trying day was past, another came;
The third was all remorse, confusion, dread,
And, (all too late!) the fallen hero fled.

Then felt the youth, in that seducing time, How feebly honour guards the heart from crime: Small is his native strength; man needs the stay, The strength imparted in the trying day; For all that honour brings against the force Of headlong passion, aids its rapid course; Its slight resistance but provokes the fire, As wood-work stops the flame, and then conveys it higher.

The husband came; a wife by guilt made bold, Had, meeting, soothed him, as in days of old; But soon this fact transpired; her strong distress, And his friend's absence, left him naught to guess.

Still cool, though grieved, thus prudence bade | Superior natures with their puppets play,

him write

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"I cannot pardon, and I will not fight;
Thou art too poor a culprit for the laws,
And I too faulty to support my cause;
All must be punish'd; I must sigh alone,
At home thy victim for her guilt atone;
And thou, unhappy! virtuous now no more,
Must loss of fame, peace, purity deplore;
Sinners with praise will pierce thee to the heart,
And saints, deriding, tell thee what thou art.
Such was his fall; and Edward, from that time,
Felt in full force the censure and the crime;
Despised, ashamed; his noble views before,
And his proud thoughts, degraded him the more ;
Should he repent-would that conceal his shame?
Could peace be his? It perish'd with his fame :
Himself he scorn'd, nor could his crime forgive;
He fear'd to die, yet felt ashamed to live:
Grieved, but not contrite, was his heart; oppress'd,
Not broken; not converted, but distress'd;
He wanted will to bend the stubborn knee,
He wanted light the cause of ill to see,
To learn how frail is man, how humble then should
For faith he had not, or a faith too weak
To gain the help that humbled sinners seek;
Else had he pray'd-to an offended God
His tears had flown a penitential flood;
Though far astray, he would have heard the call
Of mercy-"Come! return, thou prodigal ;"
Then, though confused, distress'd, ashamed, afraid,
Still had the trembling penitent obey'd;
Though faith have fainted, when assail'd by fear,
Hope to the soul had whisper'd, "Persevere!"
Till in his Father's house an humbled guest,
He would have found forgiveness, comfort, rest.
But all this joy was to our youth denied
By his fierce passions and his daring pride,
And shame and doubt impell'd him in a course,
Once so abhorr'd, with unresisted force.
Proud minds and guilty, whom their crimes oppress,
Fly to new crimes for comfort and redress;
So found our fallen youth a short relief
In wine, the opiate guilt applies to grief,-
From fleeting mirth that o'er the bottle lives,
From the false joy its inspiration gives;
And from associates pleased to find a friend,
With powers to lead them, gladden, and defend,
In all those scenes where transient ease is found,
For minds whom sins oppress, and sorrows wound.
Wine is like anger; for it makes us strong,
Blind, and impatient, and it leads us wrong;
The strength is quickly lost, we feel the error long :
Thus led, thus strengthen'd in an evil cause,
For folly pleading, sought the youth applause ;
Sad for a time, then eloquently wild,
He gayly spoke as his companions smiled;
Lightly he rose, and with his former grace
Proposed some doubt, and argued on the case;
Fate and foreknowledge were his favourite themes,
How vain man's purpose, how absurd his schemes;
"Whatever is, was ere our birth decreed;
We think our actions from ourselves proceed,
And idly we lament th' inevitable deed;
It seems our own, but there's a power above
Directs the motion, nay, that makes us move;
Nor good nor evil can you beings name,
Who are but rooks and castles in the game;

Till, bagg'd or buried, all are swept away."

Such were the notions of a mind to ill
Now prone, but ardent and determined still:
Of joy now eager, as before of fame,
And screen'd by folly when assail'd by shame,
Deeply he sank; obey'd each passion's call,
And used his reason to defend them all.

Shall I proceed, and step by step relate
The odious progress of a sinner's fate?
No-let me rather hasten to the time
(Sure to arrive) when misery waits on crime.

With virtue, prudence fled; what Shore possess d
Was sold, was spent, and he was now distress'd
And Want, unwelcome stranger, pale and wan,
Met with her haggard looks the hurried man;
His pride felt keenly what he must expect
From useless pity and from cold neglect.

Struck by new terrors, from his friends he fled, And wept his woes upon a restless bed; Retiring late, at early hour to rise, With shrunken features, and with bloodshot eyes: If sleep one moment closed the dismal view, Fancy her terrors built upon the true; And night and day had their alternate woes, That baffled pleasure, and that mock'd repose; Till to despair and anguish was consign'd The wreck and ruin of a noble mind.

Now seized for debt, and lodged within a jail, He tried his friendships, and he found them fail; Then fail'd his spirits, and his thoughts were all Fix'd on his sins, his sufferings, and his fall: His ruffled mind was pictured in his face, Once the fair seat of dignity and grace: Great was the danger of a man so prone To think of madness, and to think alone; Yet pride still lived, and struggled to sustain The drooping spirit and the roving brain; But this too fail'd: a friend his freedom gave, And sent him help the threatening world to brave, Gave solid counsel what to seek or flee, But still would stranger to his person be: In vain! the truth determined to explore, He traced the friend whom he had wrong'd before. This was too much; both aided and advised By one who shunn'd him, pitied, and despised: He bore it not; 'twas a deciding stroke, And on his reason like a torrent broke: In dreadful stillness he appear'd a while, With vacant horror and a ghastly smile; Then rose at once into the frantic rage, That force controll'd not, nor could love assuage. Friends now appear'd, but in the man was seen The angry maniac, with vindictive mien; Too late their pity gave to care and skill The hurried mind and ever-wandering will; Unnoticed pass'd all time, and not a ray Of reason broke on his benighted way; But now he spurn'd the straw in pure disdain, And now laugh'd loudly at the clinking chain. Then as its wrath subsided, by degrees The mind sank slowly to infantine ease; To playful folly, and to causeless joy, Speech without aim, and without end, employ; He drew fantastic figures on the wall, And gave some wild relation of them all; With brutal shape he join'd the human face, And idiot smiles approved the motley race.

Harmless at length th' unhappy man was found, The spirit settled, but the reason drown'd; And all the dreadful tempest died away. To the dull stillness of the misty day.

And now his freedom he attain'd-if free, The lost to reason, truth, and hope, can be ; His friends, or wearied with the charge, or sure The harmless wretch was now beyond a cure, Gave him to wander where he pleased, and find His own resources for the eager mind; The playful children of the place he meets, Playful with them he rambles through the streets; In all they need, his stronger arm he lends, And his lost mind to these approving friends.

That gentle maid, whom once the youth had loved,

Is now with mild religious pity moved;
Kindly she chides his boyish flights, while he
Will for a moment fix'd and pensive be;
And as she trembling speaks, his lively eyes
Explore her looks, he listens to her sighs;
Charm'd by her voice, th' harmonious sounds invade
His clouded mind, and for a time persuade :
Like a pleased infant, who has newly caught
From the maternal glance a gleam of thought;
He stands enrapt, the half-known voice to hear,
And starts, half-conscious, at the falling tear.
Rarely from town, nor then unwatch'd, he goes,
In darker mood, as if to hide his woes;
Returning soon, he with impatience seeks

His youthful friends, and shouts, and sings, and speaks;

Speaks a wild speech with action all as wild-
The children's leader, and himself a child;
He spins their top, or, at their bidding, bends
His back, while o'er it leap his laughing friends;
Simple and weak, he acts the boy once more,
And heedless children call him Silly Shore.



Such smiling rogues as these,

Like rats, oft bite the holy cords in twain, Too intrinsicate t' unloose

My other self, my counsel's consistory, My oracle, my prophet,

I as a child will go by thy direction.

Ten years enduring at her board to sit,
He meekly listen'd to her tales and wit;
He took the meanest office man can take,
And his aunt's vices for her money's sake:
By many a threatening hint she waked his fear,
And he was pain'd to see a rival near;
Yet all the taunts of her contemptuous pride
He bore, nor found his grovelling spirit tried:
Nay, when she wish'd his parents to traduce,
Fawning he smiled, and justice call'd th' abuse;
"They taught you nothing; are you not, at best,"
Said the proud dame, "a trifler, and a jest?
Confess you are a fool!"-he bow'd and he con-

This vex'd him much, but could not always last : The dame is buried, and the trial past.

There was a female, who had courted long
Her cousin's gifts, and deeply felt the wrong;
By a vain boy forbidden to attend

The private councils of her wealthy friend,
She vow'd revenge, nor should that crafty boy
In triumph undisturb'd his spoils enjoy;

He heard, he smiled, and when the will was read,
Kindly dismiss'd the kindred of the dead;

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The dear deceased," he call'd her, and the crowd Moved off with curses deep and threatenings loud The youth retired, and, with a mind at ease, Found he was rich, and fancied he must please : He might have pleased, and to his comfort found The wife he wish'd, if he had sought around; For there were lasses of his own degree, With no more hatred to the state than he : But he had courted spleen and age so long, His heart refused to woo the fair and young; So long attended on caprice and whim, He thought attention now was due to him; And as his flattery pleased the wealthy dame, Heir to the wealth he might the flattery claim; But this the fair, with one accord, denied, Nor waved for man's caprice the sex's pride: There is a season when to them is due

Worship and awe, and they will claim it too.

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Fathers," they cry, "long hold us in their chain,
Nay, tyrant brothers claim a right to reign;
Uncles and guardians we in turn obey,
And husbands rule with ever-during sway;

Lear, act 1. sc. 2. Short is the time when lovers at the feet
Of beauty kneel, and own the slavery sweet;
And shall we this our triumph, this the aim
And boast of female power, forbear to claim?
No! we demand that homage, that respect,
Or the proud rebel punish and reject."

Richard III. act ii. sc. 2. If I do not have pity upon her, I'm a villain; if I do not love her, I am a Jew.

Much Ado about Nothing, act ii. sc. 3.

Women are soft, mild, pitiable, flexible;
But thou art obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
Henry VI. part 3, act ii. sc. 4.

He must be told of it, and he shall; the office
Becomes a woman best; I'll take it upon me;
If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister.
Winter's Tale, act ii. sc. 2.
Disguise-I see thou art a wickedness.

Our hero, still too indolent, too nice
To pay for beauty the accustom'd price,
No less forbore t' address the humbler maid,
Who might have yielded with the price unpaid;
But lived, himself to humour and to please,
To count his money, and enjoy his ease.

It pleased a neighbouring 'squire to recommend
A faithful youth, as servant to his friend;
Nay, more than servant, whom he praised for parts
Ductile yet strong, and for the best of hearts
Twelfth Night, act ii. sc. 2. One who might ease him in his small affairs,
With tenants, tradesmen, taxes, and repairs;
Answer his letters, look to all his dues,
And entertain him with discourse and news.
The 'squire believed, and found the trusted youth
A very pattern for his care and truth;

'SQUIRE THOMAS flatter'd long a wealthy aunt, Who left him all that she could give or grant : Ten years he tried, with all his craft and skill, To fix the sovereign lady's varying will;

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