Chapter 9

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more; Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

* * * * *

Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done; Think not of the rising sun, For, at dawning to assail ye, Here no bugles sound reveille. _Lady of the Lake, Canto I_. SIR W. SCOTT.

Better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further! _Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Here may the storme-bett vessell safely ryde; This is the port of rest from troublous toyle, The worlde's sweet inn from paine and wearisome turmoyle. _Faërie Queene_. E. SPENSER.

To die is landing on some silent shore, Where billows never break, nor tempests roar; Ere well we feel the friendly stroke, 't is o'er. _The Dispensary, Canto III_. SIR S. GARTH.

Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damnèd grudges; here are no storms, No noise, but silence and eternal sleep. _Titus Andronicus, Act i. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Let guilt, or fear, Disturb man's rest, Cato knows neither of them; Indifferent in his choice, to sleep or die. _Cato_. J. ADDISON.

Sleep is a death; O make me try By sleeping what it is to die, And as gently lay my head On my grave as now my bed. _Religio Medici, Pt. II. Sec_. 12. SIR T. BROWNE.

Death in itself is nothing; but we fear To be we know not what, we know not where. _Aurengzebe, Act iv. Sc. 1_. J. DRYDEN.

Death, so called, is a thing that makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep. _Don Juan, Canto XIV_. LORD BYRON.

Let no man fear to die; we love to sleep all, And death is but the sounder sleep. _Humorous Lieutenant_. F. BEAUMONT.

I hear a voice you cannot hear, Which says I must not stay, I see a hand you cannot see, Which beckons me away. _Colin and Lucy_. T. TICKELL.

DECEIT.

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! _Merchant of Venice, Act i. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

A man I knew who lived upon a smile, And well it fed him; he looked plump and fair. While rankest venom foamed through every vein. _Night Thoughts, Night VIII_. DR. E. YOUNG.

The world is still deceived with ornament, In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, What damnèd error, but some sober brow Will bless it and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? _Merchant of Venice, Act iii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

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. _De Montford, Act i. Sc. 2_. J. BAILLIE.

Hateful to me as are the gates of hell, Is he who, hiding one thing in his heart, Utters another. _The Iliad, Bk. IX_. HOMER. _Trans. of_ BRYANT.

Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile! _K. Richard III., Act ii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Our better part remains To work in close design, by fraud or guile, What force effected not; that he no less At length from us may find, who overcomes By force hath overcome but half his foe. _Paradise Lost, Bk. I_. MILTON.

Appearances to save, his only care; So things seem right, no matter what they are. _Rosciad_. C. CHURCHILL.

Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made, To turn a penny in the way of trade. _Table Talk_. W. COWPER.

DEEDS.

From this moment, The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done. _Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

Count that day lost whose low descending sun Views from thy hand no worthy action done. _Staniford's Art of Reading. Author Unknown_.

That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees it and does it; This high man, with a great thing to pursue, Dies ere he knows it. _A Grammarian's Funeral_. R. BROWNING.

'Tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would do. _Saul, XVIII_. R. BROWNING.

From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed. _All's Well that Ends Well, Act ii. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

Little deeds of kindness, little words of love. Make our earth an Eden like the heaven above. _Little Things_. J.A. CARNEY.

I profess not talking: only this, Let each man do his best. _Henry IV., Pt. I. Act v. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Things done well. And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; Things done without example, in their issue Are to be feared. _Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

So much one man can do, That does both act and know. _Upon Cromwell's Return from Ireland_. A. MARVELL.

DEFEAT.

Yes, this is life; and everywhere we meet, Not victor crowns, but wailings of defeat. _The Unattained_. E.O. SMITH.

At a frown they in their glory die. The painful warrior, famousèd for fight, After a thousand victories once foiled, Is from the books of honor razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toiled. _Sonnet XXV_. SHAKESPEARE.

What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield. And what is else not to be overcome. _Paradise Lost, Bk. I_. MILTON.

Unkindness may do much; And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love. _Othello, Act iv. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

They never fail who die In a great cause. _Marino Faliero, Act ii. Sc. 2_. LORD BYRON.

DESPAIR.

So farewell hope, and, with hope, farewell fear, Farewell remorse: all good to me is lost; Evil, be thou my good. _Paradise Lost, Bk. IV_. MILTON.

No change, no pause, no hope! Yet I endure. _Prometheus Unbound, Act i_. P.B. SHELLEY.

The strongest and the fiercest spirit That fought in heaven, now fiercer by despair. _Paradise Lost, Bk. II_. MILTON.

I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed, that I am reckless what I do to spite the world. _Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day, Live till to-morrow, will have passed away. _Needless Alarm_. W. COWPER.

DEVIL.

I called the devil, and he came, And with wonder his form did I closely scan; He is not ugly, and is not lame, But really a handsome and charming man. A man in the prime of life is the devil, Obliging, a man of the world, and civil; A diplomatist too, well skilled in debate, He talks quite glibly of church and state. _Pictures of Travel: Return Home_. H. HEINE.

The Devil was sick, the Devil a monk would be; The Devil was well, the Devil a monk was he. _Works, Bk. IV_. F. RABELAIS.

He must needs go that the devil drives. _All's Well that Ends Well, Act i. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

The prince of darkness is a gentleman. _King Lear, Act iii. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

The devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape. _Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths; Win us with honest trifles, to betray us In deepest consequence. _Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

But the trail of the serpent is over them all. _Paradise and the Peri_. T. MOORE.

DEW.

Dewdrops, Nature's tears, which she Sheds in her own breast for the fair which die. The sun insists on gladness; but at night, When he is gone, poor Nature loves to weep. _Festus: Sc. Water and Wood. Midnight_. P.J. BAILEY.

Dewdrops are the gems of morning, But the tears of mournful eve! _Youth and Age_. S.T. COLERIDGE.

The dews of the evening most carefully shun,-- Those tears of the sky for the loss of the sun. _Advice to a Lady in Autumn_. EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.

With coronet of fresh and fragrant flower; The same dew, which sometimes on the buds Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls, Stood now within the pretty flow'rets' eyes, Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. _Midsummer Night's Dream, Act iv. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

I've seen the dewdrop clinging To the rose just newly born. _Mary of Argyle_. C. JEFFREYS.

An host Innumerable as the stars of night, Or stars of morning, dewdrops, which the sun Impearls on every leaf and every flower. _Paradise Lost, Book V_. MILTON.

The dewdrops in the breeze of morn. Trembling and sparkling on the thorn. _A Collection of Mary F_. J. MONTGOMERY.

DISAPPOINTMENT.

Hope tells a flattering tale, Delusive, vain, and hollow, Ah, let not Hope prevail, Lest disappointment follow. _The Universal Songster_. MISS WROTHER.

As distant prospects please us, but when near We find but desert rocks and fleeting air. _The Dispensatory, Canto III_. SIR S. GARTH.

We're charmed with distant views of happiness, But near approaches make the prospect less. _Against Enjoyment_. T. YALDEN.

The wretched are the faithful; 't is their fate To have all feelings, save the one, decay, And every passion into one dilate. _Lament of Tasso_. LORD BYRON.

Alas! the breast that inly bleeds Hath naught to dread from outward blow: Who falls from all he knows of bliss Cares little into what abyss. _The Giaour_. LORD BYRON.

Full little knowest thou that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To lose good dayes, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow. _Mother Hubberd's Tale_. E. SPENSER.

A thousand years a poor man watched Before the gate of Paradise: But while one little nap he snatched, It oped and shut. Ah! was he wise? _Oriental Poetry: Swift Opportunity_. W.R. ALGER.

Defend me, therefore, common sense, say I, From reveries so airy, from the toil Of dropping buckets into empty wells, And growing old in drawing nothing up. _Task, Bk. III_. W. COWPER.

Like Dead Sea fruit that tempts the eye, But turns to ashes on the lips! _Lalla Rookh: The Fire Worshippers_. T. MOORE.

Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste. _Childe Harold, Canto III_. LORD BYRON.

At threescore winters' end I died, A cheerless being, sole and sad; The nuptial knot I never tied, And wish my father never had. _From the Greek_. W. COWPER'S _Trans_.

The cold--the changed--perchance the dead--anew, The mourned, the loved, the lost--too many!--yet how few! _Childe Harold, Canto IV_. LORD BYRON.

Do not drop in for an after-loss. Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, Come in the rearward of a conquered woe; Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, To linger out a purposed overthrow. _Sonnet XC_. SHAKESPEARE.

I have not loved the world, nor the world me. _Childe Harold, Canto III_. LORD BYRON.

DISCONTENT.

Past and to come seem best; things present worst. _King Henry IV., Pt. II. Act i. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mocked himself and scorned his spirit That could be moved to smile at anything. _Julius Cæsar, Act i. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

To sigh, yet feel no pain, To weep, yet scarce know why; To sport an hour with beauty's chain, Then throw it idly by. _The Blue Stocking_. T. MOORE.

DISTANCE.

Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky? Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near?-- 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue. Thus, with delight, we linger to survey The promised joys of life's unmeasured way. _Pleasures of Hope, Pt. I_. T. CAMPBELL.

Yon foaming flood seems motionless as ice; Its dizzy turbulence eludes the eye, Frozen by distance. _Address to Kilchurn Castle_. W. WORDSWORTH.

How he fell From heaven they fabled, thrown by angry Jove Sheer o'er the crystal battlements; from morn To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, A summer's day; and with the setting sun Dropt from the zenith like a falling star. _Paradise Lost, Bk. I_. MILTON.

What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom? _Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

DOUBT.

Modest doubt is called The beacon of the wise. _Troilus and Cressida, Act ii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Who never doubted, never half believed, Where doubt there truth is--'tis her shadow. _Festus: Sc. A Country Town_. P.J. BAILEY.

Uncertain ways unsafest are, And doubt a greater mischief than despair. _Cooper's Hill_. SIR J. DENHAM.

But the gods are dead-- Ay, Zeus is dead, and all the gods but Doubt, And Doubt is brother devil to Despair! _Prometheus: Christ_. J.B. O'REILLY.

Our doubts are traitors And make us lose the good we oft might win By fearing to attempt. _Measure for Measure, Act i. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

But now, I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in To saucy doubts and fears. _Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt; Nothing's so hard but search will find it out. _Seek and Find_. R. HERRICK.

Dubious is such a scrupulous good man-- Yes--you may catch him tripping if you can, He would not, with a peremptory tone, Assert the nose upon his face his own; With hesitation admirably slow, He humbly hopes--presumes--it may be so. _Conversation_. W. COWPER.

But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchored ne'er shall be. _Childe Harold, Canto III_. LORD BYRON.

The wound of peace is surety, Surety secure; but modest doubt is called The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To the bottom of the worst. _Troilus and Cressida, Act ii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

DREAM.

Dreams are but interludes, which fancy makes; When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes. _Fables: The Cock and the Fox_. J. DRYDEN.

'Twas but a dream,--let it pass,--let it vanish like so many others! What I thought was a flower is only a weed, and is worthless. _Courtship of Miles Standish, Pt. VIII_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

One of those passing rainbow dreams, Half light, half shade, which fancy's beams Paint on the fleeting mists that roll, In trance or slumber, round the soul! _Lalla Rookh: Fire Worshippers_. T. MOORE.

If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; And all this day an unaccustomed spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. _Romeo and Juliet, Act v. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted dreams, And into glory peep. _Ascension Hymn_. H. VAUGHAN.

When to soft Sleep we give ourselves away, And in a dream as in a fairy bark Drift on and on through the enchanted dark To purple daybreak--little thought we pay To that sweet bitter world we know by day. _Sonnet: Sleep_. T.B. ALDRICH.

Dreams are the children of an idle brain. _Romeo and Juliet, Act_ i. _Sc_. 4. SHAKESPEARE.

DRESS.

Let thy attyre bee comely, but not costly. _Euphues, 1579_. J. LYLY.

The soul of this man is his clothes. _All's Well that Ends Well, Act ii. Sc. 5_.. SHAKESPEARE.

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy: For the apparel oft proclaims the man. _Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

We'll have a swashing and a martial outside. _As You Like It, Act i. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

O fair undress, best dress! it checks no vein, But every flowing limb in pleasure drowns, And heightens ease with grace. _Castle of Indolence, Canto I_. J. THOMSON.

What a fine man Hath your tailor made you! _City Madam, Act i. Sc. 2_. P. MASSINGER.

Thy gown? why, ay;--come, tailor, let us see't. O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here? What's this? a sleeve? 'tis like a demi-cannon: What, up and down, carved like an apple-tart? Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash, Like to a censer in a barber's shop: Why, what i' devil's name, tailor, callest thou this! _Taming of the Shrew, Act iv. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings, With ruffs, and cuffs, and farthingales and things; With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery, With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery. _Taming of the Shrew, Act iv. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

Dress drains our cellar dry, And keeps our larder lean; puts out our fires. And introduces hunger, frost, and woe, Where peace and hospitality might reign. _The Task, Bk. II_. W. COWPER.

Dwellers in huts and in marble halls-- From Shepherdess up to Queen-- Cared little for bonnets, and less for shawls, And nothing for crinoline. But now simplicity 's _not_ the rage, And it's funny to think how cold The dress they wore in the Golden Age Would seem in the Age of Gold. _The Two Ages_. H.S. LEIGH.

DRINK.

Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale, And sing enamored of the nut-brown maid. _The Minstrel, Bk. I_. J. BEATTIE.

Fill full! Why this is as it should be: here Is my true realm, amidst bright eyes and faces Happy as fair! Here sorrow cannot reach. _Sardanapalus, Act iii. Sc_. 1. LORD BYRON.

But maistly thee, the bluid o' Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to John o' Grots, The king o' drinks, as I conceive it, Talisker, Isla, or Glenlivet! For after years wi' a pockmantie Frae Zanzibar to Alicante, In mony a fash an' sair affliction I gie 't as my sincere conviction-- Of a' their foreign tricks an' pliskies, I maist abominate their whiskies. Nae doot, themsel's, they ken it weel, An' wi' a hash o' leemon peel, An' ice an' siccan filth, they ettle The stawsome kind o' goo to settle; Sic wersh apothecary's broos wi' As Scotsmen scorn to fyle their moo's wi'. _The Scotman's Return from Abroad_ R.L. STEVENSON.

This bottle's the sun of our table, His beams are rosy wine; We planets that are not able, Without his help to shine. _The Duenna, Act iii. Sc_. 5. R.B. SHERIDAN.

Now to rivulets from the mountains Point the rods of fortune-tellers; Youth perpetual dwells in fountains, Not in flasks, and casks, and cellars. _Drinking Song_ H.W. LONGFELLOW.

In vain I trusted that the flowing bowl Would banish sorrow, and enlarge the soul. To the late revel, and protracted feast, Wild dreams succeeded, and disordered rest. _Solomon, Bk. II_. M. PRIOR.

And now, in madness, Being full of supper and distempering draughts, Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come To start my quiet. _Othello, Act i. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

He that is drunken.... Is outlawed by himself; all kind of ill Did with his liquor slide into his veins. _The Temple: The Church Porch_. G. HERBERT.

A drunkard clasp his teeth, and not undo 'em, To suffer wet damnation to run through 'em. _The Revenger's Tragedy, Act iii. Sc. 1_. C. TOURNEUR.

I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; So full of valor that they smote the air For breathing in their faces; beat the ground For kissing of their feet. _Tempest, Act iv. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

Of my merit On thet point you yourself may jedge; All is, I never drink no sperit, Nor I hain't never signed no pledge. _The Biglow Papers, First Series, No. VII_. J.R. LOWELL.

DUTY.

So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, When Duty whispers low, _Thou must_, The youth replies, _I can_. _Voluntaries_. R.W. EMERSON.

Not once or twice in our rough island story, The path of duty was the way to glory. _Ode: Death of the Duke of Wellington_. A. TENNYSON.

When I'm not thanked at all, I'm thanked enough: I've done my duty, and I've done no more. _Tom Thumb_. H. FIELDING.

And I read the moral--A brave endeavor To do thy duty, whate'er its worth, Is better than life with love forever, And love is the sweetest thing on earth. _Sir Hugo's Choice_. J.J. ROCHE.

DYING.

The slender debt to nature's quickly paid, Discharged, perchance, with greater ease than made. _Emblems, Bk. II_.13. F. QUARLES.

The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies. _Measure for Measure, Act iii. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

She thought our good-night kiss was given, And like a lily her life did close; Angels uncurtained that repose, And the next waking dawned in heaven. _Ballad of Babe Christabel_. G. MASSEY.

So fades a summer cloud away; So sinks the gale when storms are o'er; So gently shuts the eye of day; So dies a wave along the shore. _The Death of the Virtuous_. MRS. BARBAULD.

Of no distemper, of no blast he died, But fell like autumn fruit that mellowed long; Even wondered at, because he dropt no sooner. Fate seemed to wind him up for fourscore years; Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more: Till, like a clock worn out with eating time, The wheels of weary life at last stood still. _OEdipus, Act iv. Sc. 1_. J. DRYDEN.

EASTER.

"Christ the Lord is risen to-day," Sons of men and angels say. Raise your joys and triumphs high; Sing, ye heavens, and earth reply. "_Christ the Lord is risen to-day_." C. WESLEY.

Yes, He is risen who is the First and Last; Who was and is; who liveth and was dead; Beyond the reach of death He now has passed, Of the one glorious Church the glorious Head. _He is Risen_. H. BONAR.

Tomb, thou shalt not hold Him longer; Death is strong, but Life is stronger; Stronger than the dark, the light; Stronger than the wrong, the right; Faith and Hope triumphant say Christ will rise on Easter Day. _An Easter Carol_. PH. BROOKS.

Rise, heart! thy Lord is risen. Sing His praise Without delays Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise With Him mayst rise-- That as His death calcined thee to dust, His life may make thee gold, and much more just. _Easter_. G. HERBERT.

Spring bursts to-day, For Christ is risen and all the earth's at play. _An Easter Carol_. C.G. ROSSETTI.

ECCLESIASTICISM.

With crosses, relics, crucifixes, Beads, pictures, rosaries, and pixes; The tools of working out salvation By mere mechanic operation. _Hudibras, Pt. III. Canto I_. S. BUTLER.

Till Peter's keys some christened Jove adorn, And Pan to Moses lends his pagan horn. _The Dunciad, Bk. III_. A. POPE.

Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded That all the Apostles would have done as they did. _Don Juan, Canto I_. LORD BYRON.

To rest, the cushion and soft dean invite, Who never mentions hell to ears polite. _Moral Essays, Epistle IV_. A. POPE.

Perverts the Prophets and purloins the Psalms. _English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_. LORD BYRON.

So shall they build me altars in their zeal, Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall kneel: Where faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell, Written in blood--and Bigotry may swell The sail he spreads for Heaven with blast from hell! _Lalla Rookh: The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan_. T. MOORE.

In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell. _Childe Harold, Canto I_. LORD BYRON.

When pious frauds and holy shifts Are dispensations and gifts. _Hudibras, Pt. I. Canto III_. S. BUTLER.