Chapter 400
Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen; Here's to the widow of fifty; Here's to the flaunting, extravagant quean, And here's to the housewife that's thrifty. Let the toast pass; Drink to the lass; I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
_The Duenna_. Act i. Sc. 2.
I ne'er could any lustre see In eyes that would not look on me; I ne'er saw nectar on a lip But where my own did hope to sip.
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_Speech in Reply to Mr. Dundas_.
The Right Honorable gentleman is indebted to his memory for his jests and to his imagination for his facts.
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GEORGE CRABBE. 1754-1832.
_Parish Register_.
Oh! rather give me commentators plain, Who with no deep researches vex the brain, Who from the dark and doubtful love to run, And hold their glimmering taper to the sun.
_The Borough Schools_.
Books cannot always please, however good; Minds are not ever craving for their food.
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_The Borough Placers_.
In this fool's paradise lie drank delight.
* * * * *
_The Birth of Flattery_.
In idle wishes fools supinely stay; Be there a will, then wisdom finds a way.
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ROBERT BURNS. 1759-1796.
_Tom O'Shanter_.
Where sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gather in' her brows like gatherin' storm, Nursin' her wrath to keep it warm.
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Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious.
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But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white, then melts for ever. As Tammie gloured, amazed and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious.
_To a Mouse_.
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft a-gley; An' lea'e us naught but grief and pain For promised joy.
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_Scots wha hae_.
Let us do, or die!
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_Address to the Unco Guid_.
Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler, sister woman; Though they may gang a kennin' wrang To step aside is human.
* * * * *
_On Captain Grose's Peregrinations through Scotland_.
If there's a hole in a' your coats, I rede you tent it; A chiel's amang you takin' notes, An', faith, he'll prent it.
_To a Louse_.
O wad some power the giftie gie us, To see oursel's as others see us! It wad frae monie a blunder free us, An' foolish notion.
* * * * *
_Epistle to a Young Friend_.
The fear o' hell 's a hangman's whip To haud the wretch in order; But where ye feel your honor grip, Let that aye be your border.
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_The Twa Dogs_.
His locked, lettered, braw brass collar Shawed him the gentleman and scholar.
* * * * *
_Epistle to James Smith_.
O Life! how pleasant in thy morning, Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning! Cold, pausing Caution's lesson scorning, We frisk away, Like schoolboys at th' expected warning. To joy and play.
* * * * *
_Despondency_.
O Life! them art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I!
_Auld Lang Syne_.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne?
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_Green grow the Rashes_.
Her 'prentice han' she tried on man. And then she made the lasses, O!
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_Man was made to Mourn_.
Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn.
* * * * *
_Death and Dr. Hornbook_.
Some wee short hour ayont the twal.
* * * * *
_Is there for honest Poverty_.
The _rank_ is but the guinea's _stamp_.
The man's the gowd for a' that.
* * * * *
A prince can mak' a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a that: But an honest man's aboon his might, Guid faith, he maunna fa' that.
_The Cotter's Saturday Night_.
He wales a portion with judicious care; And "Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn air.
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THOMAS MOSS. --1808.
_The Beggar_.
Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span; Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store.
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GEORGE COLMAN. 1762-1836.
BROAD GRINS.
_The Maid of the Moor_.
And what's impossible can't be, And never, never comes to pass.
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Three stories high, long, dull, and old, As great lord's stories often are.
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_Lodgings for Single Gentlemen_.
But when ill indeed, E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed.
_The Poor Gentleman_.