Shrink not from blasphemy, 't will pass for wit; Care not for feeling-pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated yet caressed.
And shall we own such judgment? no-as soon Seek roses in December, ice in June;, Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff; Believe a woman, or an epitaph;
Or any other thing that's false, before You trust in critics who themselves are sore; Or yield one single thought to be misled By Jeffrey's heart, or Lambe's Boeotian head.
A CONCEITED COXCOMB.-SHAKSPEARE.
A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain: One, whom the music of his own vain tongue Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony: A man of compliments, whom right and wrong Have chose as umpire of their meeting.
Who stole the livery of the court of heaven, To serve the devil in; in virtue's guise, Devoured the widow's house and orphan's bread;
In holy phrase, transacted villanies
That common sinners durst not meddle with.
At sacred feast, he sat among the saints,
And with his guilty hands touched holiest things. And none of sin lamented more, or sighed More deeply, or with graver countenance, Or longer prayer, wept o'er the dying man, Whose infant children, at the moment, he Planned how to rob. In sermon style he bought, And sold, and lied; and salutations made
In scripture terms. He prayed by quantity, And with his repetitions long and loud,
All knees were weary.
A penny in the urn of poverty,
And with the other took a shilling out. On charitable lists,-those trumps which told The public ear, who had in secret done
The poor a benefit, and half the alms
They told of, took themselves to keep them sounding,- He blazed his name, more pleased to have it there Than in the book of life. Seest thou the man!
A serpent with an angel's voice! a grave
With flowers bestrewed! and yet few were deceived. His virtues being over-done, his face
Too grave, his prayers too long, his charities Too pompously attended, and his speech Larded too frequently and out of time
With serious phraseology,-were rents
That in his garments opened in spite of him,
Through which the well-accustomed eye could see The rottenness of his heart. None deeper blushed, As in the all-piercing light he stood, exposed, No longer herding with the holy ones. Yet still he tried to bring his countenance To sanctimonious seeming; but, meanwhile,
The shame within, now visible to all,
His purpose balked. The righteous smiled, and even Despair itself some signs of laughter gave, As ineffectually he strove to wipe
His brow, that inward guiltiness defiled. Detected wretch! of all the reprobate,
None seemed maturer for the flames of hell, Where still his face, from ancient custom wears A holy air which says to all that pass Him by, "I was a hypocrite on earth.”
LOVE OF ADMIRATION,-YOUNG.
Britania's daughters, much more fair than nice, Too fond of admiration, lose their price; Worn in the public eye, give cheap delight To throngs, and tarnish to the sated sight: As unreserved, and beauteous, as the sun, Through every sign of vanity they run; Assemblies, parks, coarse feasts in city-halls; Lectures, and trials, plays, committees, balls,
Wells, bedlams, executions, Smithfield scenes, And fortune-tellers, caves, and lion's dens, Taverns, exchanges, bridewells, drawing rooms, Instalments, pillories, coronations, tombs, Tumblers, and funerals, puppet-shows, reviews, Sales, races, rabbits, (and still stranger!) pews. Clarinda's bosom burns, but burns for fame; And love lies vanquished in a nobler flame; Warm gleams of hope she now dispenses; then Like April suns, dives into clouds again: With all her luster, now, her lover warms; Then out of ostentation, hides her charms; "T is next, her pleasure sweetly to complain, And to be taken with a sudden pain; Then, she starts up, all exstacy and bliss, And is, sweet soul! just as sincere in this: O how she rolls her charming eyes in spite ! And looks delightfully with all her might! But, like our heroes, much more brave than wise, She conquers for the triumph, not the prize.
Lemira's sick; make haste; the doctor call: He comes; but where's his patient? At the ball. The doctor stares; her woman curt'sies low, And cries," my lady, sir, is always so: Diversions put her maladies to flight;
True, she can't stand, but she can dance all night: I've known my lady (for she loves a tune)
For fevers take an opera in June:
And, though perhaps you 'll think the practice bold, A midnight park is sovereign for a cold.
O, I did love her dearly,
And gave her toys and rings, And thought she meant sincerely, When she took my pretty things: But her heart has grown as icy As a fountain in the fall; And her love, that was so spicy, It did not last at all.
I gave her once a locket,
It was filled with my own hair, And she put it in her pocket With very special care. But a jeweller has got it- He offered it to me, And another, that is not it, Around her neck I see.
Before the gates of fashion I daily bent my knee;
But I sought the shrine of passion, And I found my idol-thee.
Though never love intenser
Had bowed a soul before it,— Thine eye was on the censer, And not the hand that bore it.
AFFECTED GRAVITY.-SHAKSPEARE.
There are a sort of men, whose visages Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond; And do a willful stillness entertain, With purpose to be dressed in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; As who should say, I am Sir Oracle, And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark! O, my Antonio, I do know of these, That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing.
LIFE'S DECAY.-SHAKSPEARE.
'That time of year thou may'st in me behold, When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,-— Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourished by. This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
CONFIRMATION.-WORDSWORTH.
The young ones gathered in from hill and dale, With holiday delight on every brow:
"Tis passed away; far other thoughts prevail, For they are taking the baptismal vow,
Upon their conscious selves; their own lips speak The solemn promise. Strongest sinews fail, And many a blooming, many a lovely cheek Under the holy fear of God turns pale, While on each head his lawn-robed servant lays An apostolic hand, and with prayer seals The covenant. The Omnipotent will raise Their feeble souls; and bear with his regrets, Who, looking round the fair assemblage, feels That ere the sun goes down their childhood sets. I saw a mother's eye intensely bent Upon a maiden trembling as she knelt; In and for whom the pious mother felt
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