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He thought at heart like courtly Chesterfield,
Who after a long chase o'er hills, dales, bushes,
And what not, though he rode beyond all price,
Ask'd next day, "If men ever hunted twice?"

His gaunt hound yell'd, his rifle flash d,
The grim bear hush'd its savage growl;
In blood and foam the panther gnash'd

Its fangs with dying howl;

The fleet deer ceas'd its flying bound,
Its snarling wolf-foe bit the ground,
And with its moaning cry,

The beaver sank beneath thic wound,
Its pond built Venice by..

A band of hunters were we.


Know then,

As women owe a duty—so do men.
Men must be like the branch and bark to trees,
Which doth defend them from tempestuous rage;
Clothe them in winter, tender them in age,
Or as ewes love unto their eanlings lives;
Such should be husbands' custom to their wives.
If it appears to them they've stray'd amiss,
They only must rebuke them with a kiss;
Or cluck them as hens' chickens, with kind cali,
Cover them under their wing, and pardon all.
Wilkins's Miseries of Enforced Marriage.

To all married men be this caution,

Which they should duly tender as their life,

Street's Poems. Neither to doat too much, nor doubt a wife.
Massinger's Picture.

All day long

Our feet had trail'd the woods. The panther fierce,
The snorting bear, the cowering wolf, the deer
Swift as our balls, had fallen, as crack'd the shots
Of our slim, deadly rifles.


Street's Poems.

Look here upon this picture, and on this:
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers:
See, what a grace was seated on this brow;
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye, like Mars, to threaten or command;
A station, like the herald Mercury,
New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
A combination, and a form indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man!
This was your husband.-Look you now what

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A narrow-minded husband is a thief

To his own fame, and his preferment too;
He shuts his parts and fortunes from the world;
While from the popular vote and knowledge,
Men rise to employment in the state.

Shirley's Lady of Pleasura

Thereto when needed, she could weep and pray
And when she listed she could fawn and flatter
Now smiling smoothly, like to summer's day,
Now glooming sadly, so to cloak her matter;
Yet were her words but wind, and all her tears
but water.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.

No man's condition is so base as his;
None more accurs'd than he: for man esteems
Him hateful, 'cause he seems not what he is:

God hates him, 'cause he is not what he seems;
What grief is absent, or what mischief can
Be added to the hate of God and man?


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If I do not put on a sober habit,
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then,
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely
Nay more,
while grace
is saying, hood mine eye

What are husbands? read the new world's won- Thus with my nat, and sigh, and say Amen;

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Use all the observance of civility,
Like one well studied in a sad ostent
To please his grandam, never trust me more
Shaks. Merchant of Venice

The devil can cite scripture for his purpose,
An evil soul, producing holy witness,
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek:
A goodly apple, rotten at the heart:
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
Shaks. Merchant of Venice.
O, what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal!

Shaks. Much ado about Nothing.
This outward sainted deputy-
Whose settled visage and deliberate word
Nips youth i' the head, and follics doth enmew
As falcon doth the fowl-is yet a devil.

Shaks. Mea. for Mea.

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If that the earth could turn with woman's tears,
Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.
Shaks. Othello.
So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue,
That-his apparent open guilt omitted—
He liv'd from all attainder of suspect.

Shaks. Richard III.
But then I sigh, and with a piece of scripture,
Tell them-that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villany
With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ:
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.
Shaks. Richard III.
O Buckingham, beware of yonder dog;
Look, when he fawns he bites; and when he bites,
His venom tooth will rankle to the death:
Have not to do with him, beware of him;
Sin, death, and hell, have set their mark on him;
And all their ministers attend on him.

Shaks. Richard III. Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit: And look you get a prayer-book in your hand, And stand between two churchmen, good my lord; For on that ground I'll make a holy descant: And be not casily won to our requests; Pay the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. Shaks Richard III.

Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian;
Speak, and look back, and pry on every side,
Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,
Intending deep suspicion: ghastly looks
Are at my service, like enforced smiles
And both are ready in their offices,
At any time, to grace my stratagems

Shaks. Richard III

Gloster's show

Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile
With sorrow snares relenting passengers;
Or as the snake, roll'd in a flowering bank,
With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child
That for the beauty, thinks it excellent.
Shaks. Henry VI. Part II
Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile:
And cry content, to that which grieves my heart
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,

And frame my face to all occasions.

Shaks. Henry VI. Part III

I know thou art religious,

And hast a thing within thee, called conscience;
With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies,
Which I have seen thee careful to observe.
Shaks. Titus Andronicus

Show men deceitful?

Why, so didst thou: or seem they grave and


Why, so didst thou: come they of noble family!
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, nor swerving with the blood;
Garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment;
Not working with the eye, without the ear,
And, but in purged judgment, trusting neither?
Such, and so finely bolted, didst thou seem.

Shaks. Henry V.

How smooth and even do they bear themselves!
As if allegiance in their bosom sat,
Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty.
Shaks. Henry V.

To beguile the time,

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We are oft to blame in this

'Tis too much prov'd-that with devotion's visage And pious action, we do sugar o'er

The devil himself.

Shaks. Hamlet.

Away, and mock the time with fairest show:
False face must hide what the false heart doth
Shaks. Macbeth.

You are meek, and humble mouth'd;
You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,
With meekness and humility: but your heart
Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.
Shaks. Henry VIII.
Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted;
Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint.

Doubtless the pleasure is as great
Of being cheated, as to cheat;
As lookers-on feel most delight,
That least perceive the juggler's sleight;
And still the less they understand,
The more th' admire his sleight of hand.
Butler's Hudibras.
Kings and priests are in a manner bound,
For reverence sake, to be close hypocrites.
Yet to be secret, makes not sin the less;

"Tis only hidden from the vulgar view;
Maintains indeed the reverence due to princes,
But not absolves the conscience from the crime.
Dryden's Amphytrion.
Next stood hypocrisy, with holy leer,
Soft smiling and demurely looking down,
Shaks. Comedy of Errors. But hid the dagger underneath the gown;
Th' assassinating wife, the household fiend,
And-far the blackest there the traitor fiend.
Dryden's Palamon and Arcite

We are at the stake,

And bay'd about with many enemies;

And some that smile, have in their hearts, I fear,
Millions of mischief.

Shaks. Julius Cæsar.

Bartering his venal wit for sums of gold,
He cast himself into the saint-like mould;
Groan'd, sigh'd, and pray'd, while godliness was


You vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,
When I am sure, you hate me in your hearts.

Shaks. Midsummer Night's Dream. The loudest bag-pipe of the squeaking train.

Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
For villany is not without such rheum;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorse and innocency.

They gave, and she transferr'd the curs'd advice,
That monarchs should their inward soul disguise,
Dissemble and command, be false and wise;

Shaks. King John. By ignominious arts, for servile ends,

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Should compliment their foes, and shun their
Prior's Soloman.
The theme divine at cards she 'll not forget,
But takes in texts of scripture at picquet;
In those licentious meetings acts the prude,
And thanks her Maker that her cards are good.
Young's Love of Fame.

Foul hypocrisy's so much the mode,
There is no knowing hearts from words and looks
Ev'n ruffians cant, and undermining knaves
Display a mimic openness of soul.

W. Shirley's Parricide.
Catius is ever moral, ever grave,
Thinks who endures a knave, is next a knave,
Save just at dinner- then prefers, no doubt,
A rogue with venison to a saint without.

Pope's Moral Essays.
To wear long faces, just as if our Maker,
The God of goodness, was an undertaker,
Well pleas'd to wrap the soul's unlucky mien
In sorrow's dismal crape or bombasin.
Dr. Wolcot's Peter Pindar.
How little do they see what is, who frame
Their hasty judgment upon that which seems!

Think'st thou there are no serpents in the world
But those who slide along the grassy sod,
And sting the luckless foot that presses them?
There are who in the path of social life
Do bask their spotted skins in fortune's sun,
And sting the soul.- Ay, till its healthful frame
Is chang'd to secret, fest'ring, sore disease,
So deadly is the wound.

Joanna Baillie's De Montford. Few men dare show their thoughts of worst or best;

Dissimulation always sets apart

A corner for herself; and therefore Fiction
Is that which passes with least contradiction.


"Life's a poor play'r, then "play out the play, Ye villains!” and above all keep a sharp eye Much less on what you do than what you say: Be hypocritical, be cautious, be

Not what you seem, but always what you see.


The hypocrite had left his mask, and stood
In naked ugliness. He was a man
Who stole the livery of the court of heaven
To serve the devil in.

Pollock's Course of Time.

In sermon style he bought,

And sold, and lied; and salutations made
In scripture terms. He pray'd by quantity,
And with his repetitions long and loud,
All knees were weary.

Pollock's Course of Time.
On charitable lists,-those trumps which told
The public ear, who had in secret done
The poor a benefit, and half the alms

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They told of,took themselves to keep them sounding, The fleeting moments of too short a life;

He blazed his name.

Fatal extinction of the enlighten'd soul!

Pollock's Course of Time. Or else to fevering vanity alive,

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Their only labour was to kill the time,
And labour dire it is, and weary woe.
They sit, they loll, turn o'er some idle rhyme;
Then, rising sudden, to the glass they go,
Or saunter forth, with tottering step and slow.
This soon too rude an exercise they find;
Straight on the couch their limbs again they throw,
Where hours and hours they sighing lie reclin'd,
And court the vapoury god soft-breathing in the
wind. Thomson's Castle of Indolence.

Go to the ant, thou sluggard, learn to live,
And by her wary ways reform thine own.

Life's cares are comforts; such by heav'n design'd;
He that has none, must make them, or be wretched.
Cares are employments; and without employ
The soul is on the rack; the rack of rest,
To souls most adverse; action all their joy.
Young's Night Thoughts.
Leisure is pain; takes off our chariot wheels;
How heavily we drag the load of life!
Blest leisure is our curse; like that of Cain,
It makes us wander; wander earth around
To fly that tyrant thought. As Atlas groan'd
The world beneath, we groan beneath an hour.
Young's Night Thoughts.

From other care absolv'd, the busy mind
Finds in yourself a theme to pore upon:
It finds you miserable, or makes you so.
For while yourself you anxiously explore,
Timorous self-love, with sick'ning fancy's aid,
Presents the danger that you dread the most,
And ever galls you in your tender part.
Hence some for love, and some for jealousy,
For grim religion some, and some for pride,
Have lost their reason: some for fear of want,
Want all their lives; and others every day
For fear of dying suffer worse than death.

Armstrong's Art of Preserving Health.

The sedentary stretch their lazy length
When custom bids, but no refreshment find,
For none they need: the languid eye, the cheek
Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk,
And wither'd muscle, and the vapid soul,
Reproach their owner with that love of rest
To which he forfeits e'en the rest he loves.

Cowper's Task.

Come hither, ye that press your beds of down
And sleep not see him sweating o'er his bread
Before he eats it:-'Tis the primal curse,
But soften'd into mercy; made the pledge
Of cheerful davs, and nights without a groan.
Cowper's Task.

Like a coy maiden, ease, when courted most,
Farthest retires —an idol at whose shrine
Who oft'nest sacrifice are favour'd least.

Cowper's Task

How various his enjoyments, whom the world
Calls idle; and who justly in return
Esteems that busy world an idler too!
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his per,
Delightful industry enjoy'd at home,
And nature in her cultivated trim
Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad-
Can he want occupation, who has thes?
Will he be idle, who has much t' cajoy?

Cowper's Task.

Absence of occupation is not rest,
A mind quite vacant is a mind distress'd.

Cowper's Retirement,

No more the irksome restlessness of rest,

Disturb'd him like the eagle in her nest,
Whose whetted beak and far pervading eye,
Darts for a victim over all the sky.

Byron's Island

The keenest pangs the wretched find
Are rapture to the dreary void-
The leafless desert of the mind-
The waste of feelings unemploy'd —
Who would be doom'd to gaze upon
A sky without a cloud or sun?
Less hideous far the tempest's roar,
Than ne'er to brave the billows more--
Thrown, when the war of winds is o'er,
A lonely wreck on fortune's shore,
'Mid sullen calm, and silent bay,
Unseen to drop by dull decay;
Better to sink beneath the shock,
Than moulder piecemeal on the rock.

Byron's Giaou. When you have found a day to be idle, be idle for a day. When you have met with three cups to drink, drink your three cups.

Idleness is sweet and sacred.

Chinese Poet.

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