To tell the secrets of my prison-house,

I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word

Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood;
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres ;
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,

And each particular hair to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.

Fear. Shakespeare.

HIS man's brow, like to a title-leaf,

So looks the strong, whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.

Thou tremblest; and the Whiteness in thy Cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,

So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him half his Troy was burn'd.
Ghostly Fear. Shakespeare.

IT

WHAT man dare, I dare;
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The arm'd Rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger,
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble: or, be alive again,
And dare me to the desert with thy sword;
If trembling I inhibit thee, protest me
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!
Unreal Mockery, hence!

Feasting. Clarendon.

T is not the quantity of the Meat, but the cheerfulness of the guests, which makes the Feast; at the Feast of the Centaurs, they ate with one hand, and had their drawn swords in the other; where there is no peace, there can be no Feast.

UT 'twas a public Feast, and public day,

BUT

Quite full, right dull, guests hot, and Dishes cold,

Great plenty, much formality, small Cheer,

And everybody out of their own sphere.

Feasting. Peter Pindar.

THE turnpike road to people's hearts, I find,
Lies through their mouths, or I mistake mankind.
Feasting. Byron.

Of all appeals, although

I grant the power of pathos, and of gold,
Of beauty, flattery, threats, a shilling,—no
Methods more sure at moments to take hold,
Of the best feelings of mankind, which grow
More tender, as we every day behold,
Than that all-softening, overpow'ring knell,
The tocsin of the soul-the Dinner Bell.

Feeling. Richter.

THE last, best fruit which comes to late perfection, even,

the kindliest soul, is, Tenderness toward the hard, Forbearance toward the unforbearing, Warmth of Heart toward the cold, Philanthropy toward the misanthropic. Feeling. Colton.

is far more easy not to feel, than always to feel rightly, is determined to admire only that which is beautiful, imposes a much harder task upon himself than he that, being determined not to see that which is the contrary, effects it by simply shutting his eyes.

WITH haughty Laugh his head he turn'd,
And dash'd away the Tear he scorn'd.

HE turn'd away-his Heart throbb'd high,
The tear was bursting from his eye.

Feeling. Shakespeare.

O HERO! what a Hero had'st thou been,
If half thy outward graces had been placed
About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy Heart.

I

Feeling. — Byron.

WISH'D but for a single Tear,

As something welcome, new, and dear;

I wish'd it then, I wish it still,

Despair is stronger than my will.

A

Feeling. Sterne.

WORD-a Look, which at one time would make no impression-at another time wounds the Heart; and like a shaft flying with the wind, pierces deep, which, with its own natural force, would scarce have reached the object aimed at.

WHEN

Feeling. La Rochefoucauld.

the Heart is still agitated by the remains of a Passion, we are more ready to receive a new one than when we are entirely cured.

Feeling. Byron.

IN a gushing stream

The Tears rush'd forth from her unclouded Brain
Like mountain mists, at length dissolv'd in rain.
Feeling. Shakespeare.

HY does my Blood thus muster to my Heart,

W Making both that unable for itself,

And dispossessing all my other parts

Of necessary fitness?

So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons;
Come all to help him, and so stop the air

By which he should revive.

Feeling. Shakespeare.

How sometimes Nature will betray its Folly,
Its Tenderness, and make itself a pastime

To harder bosoms!

Feeling and Reason.

Ziegler.

THE Heart of Man is older than his Head. The firstborn is sensitive, but blind-his younger brother has a cold, but all-comprehensive glance. The blind must consent to be led by the clear-sighted if he would avoid falling.

Feeling and Reason. — Anon.

SOME people carry their Hearts in their Heads; very

many carry their Heads in their Hearts. The diffi culty is to keep them apart, and yet both actively working together.

Want of Feeling. Juvenal.

WHо can all Sense of others' ills escape,
Is but a brute, at best, in human shape.

Fidelity. Shakespeare.

THOUGH all the world should crack their Duty
And throw it from their soul; though perils did
Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and
Appear in forms more horrid; yet my Duty,
As doth a rock against the chiding flood,
Should the approach of the wild river break,
And stand unshaken yours.

Fidelity. Shakespeare.

DURST, my lord, to wager she is honest,
Lay down my soul at stake: if you think other,
Remove your thought; it doth abuse your bosom.
If any wretch hath put this in your head,
Let Heaven requite it with the serpent's curse!
For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true,

There's no man happy: the purest of their wives
Is foul as slander.

Fidelity.

-

Shakespeare.

E which hath no stomach to this fight,

départ, his passport made,

And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company,
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
I speak not this, as doubting any here:
For, did I but suspect a fearful man,
He should have leave to go away betimes;
Lest, in our need, he might infect another,
And make him of like spirit to himself.
If any such be here, as God forbid!
Let him depart, before we need his help.
Fidelity. Shakespeare.
to preserve this vessel for my lord,

Be-not to be a strumpet, I am none.

False to his bed! What is it to be false ?

To lie in watch there, and to think on him?

To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge nature,

To break it with a fearful dream of him,

And cry myself awake? that's false to his bed,

Is it ?

Unkindness may do much;

And his unkindness may defeat my life,

But never taint my Love.

Ꮮ

HE that can endure

To follow with Allegiance a fallen lord,

Does conquer him that did his master conquer, And earns a place i' the story.

Fidelity. Shakespeare.

I'LL yet follow

The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason Sits in the wind against me.

BUT now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic;

And manhood is call'd Foolery, when it stands Against a falling fabric.

I AM constant as the Northern Star, Of whose true-fix'd, and resting Quality, There is no fellow in the firmament.

Fidelity. Shakespeare.

O HEAVEN! were Man

But constant, he were perfect: that one Error Fills him with faults.

Fidelity. Shakespeare.

I HAVE five hundred crowns,

The thrifty hire I sav'd under your Father, Which I did store, to be my foster nurse, When service should in my old limbs lie lame, And unregarded age in corners thrown.

:

Take that and He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to thy age!

THO

HOUGH human, thou didst not deceive me,
Though woman, thou didst not forsake,

Though lov'd, thou forborest to grieve me.

Though slander'd, thou never couldst shake,

Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me,
Though parted it was not to fly,

Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me
Nor, mute, that the World might belie.