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And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep,

A shade that follows wealth or fame,

And leaves the wretch to weep. Chap. viii. The Hermit.

And in that town a dog was found,

As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,

And cur of low degree. Chap. xvii. Elegy on a Mad Dog.

The dog, to gain some private ends,

Went mad, and bit the man.

The man recovered of the bite,

The dog it was that died.

When lovely woman stoops to folly,

And finds too late that men betray,

What charm can soothe her melancholy?
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye,

To give repentance to her lover,

And wring his bosom, is-to die.



Chapter xxiv.

Measures, not men, have always been my mark.*

A concatenation accordingly.

The Good-natured Man. Act ii.

She Stoops to Conquer. Acti. Sc. 2.

* Of this stamp is the cant of Not men, but measures; a sort of charm by which many people get loose from every honourable engagement.— BURKE. Present Discontents.

Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no fibs.
She Stoops to Conquer. Acti.

But there's no love lost between us. *

The king himself has followed her
When she has walked before.

Ibid. Act iv.

Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize. t

Such dainties to them, their health it might hurt ;
It's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt. ‡
The Haunch of Venison.



HY spirit, Independence, let me share;


Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye,

Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare,

Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.

Ode to Independence.

Facts are stubborn things.

Translation of Gil Blas.

Plain as a pikestaff.

Book x. Ch. 1. Ibid. Book xii. Ch. 8.

* A proverbial expression; Garrick also makes use of it in his correspondence, 1759.

Written in imitation of Chanson sur le fameux La Palisse, which is attributed to Bernard de la Monnoye.

'On dit que dans ses amours

Il fut caressé des belles,

Qui le suivirent toujours,

Tant qu'il marcha devant elles.'

If your friend is in want, don't carry him to the tavern, where you treat yourself as well as him, and entail a thirst and headache upon him next morning. To treat a poor wretch with a bottle of Burgundy and fill his snuff-box, is like giving a pair of laced ruffles to a man that has never a shirt on his back.-TOM BROWN.

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Weep no more, lady, weep no more,

Thy sorrow is in vain ;

For violets plucked the sweetest showers

Will ne'er make grow again.

The Friar of Orders Gray.

We'll shine in more substantial honors,

And to be noble we'll be good.*

And when with envy time transported,
Shall think to rob us of our joys,
You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go wooing in my boys.

My mind to me a kingdom is ;+

Such perfect joy therein I find,

As far exceeds all earthly bliss,


That God and Nature hath assigned.

Howe'er it be, it seems to me,

'Tis only noble to be good.


TENNYSON. Lady Clara Vere de Vere.

+ Mens regnum bona possidet.

SENECA. Thyestes, Act ii. Line 380.

My mind to me an empire is

While grace affordeth health.


Though much I want that most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

From Byrd's Psalmes, Sonnets, &c., 1588.

He that had neyther been kithe nor kin

Might have seen a full fayre sight.

Guy of Gisborne.

BEILBY PORTEUS. 1731-1808.

IN sober state,

Through the sequestered vale of rural life,

The venerable patriarch guileless held

The tenor of his way.*


Line 108.

One murder made a villain,

Millions a hero. Princes were privileged
To kill, and numbers sanctified the crime.

Ibid. Line 154.

Ibid. Line 178.

War its thousands slays, Peace its ten thousands.


Whom soft-eyed pity once led down from Heaven
To bleed for Man, to teach him how to live,

And oh! still harder lesson, how to die.‡

* Cf. GRAY, p. 229.

Ibid. Line 316.

+ Cf. YOUNG, p. 211.

There taught us how to live; and (oh! too high

The price for knowledge) taught us how to die.

TICKELL on the Death of Addison.




JAMES BEATTIE. 1735-1803.

AH! who can tell how hard it is to climb

The steep where Fame's proud temple shines


The Minstrel. Booki. St. 1.

At the close of the day when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove.

He thought as a sage, but he felt as a man.

The Hermit.


By the glare of false science betrayed,
That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind.


How hard their lot who neither won nor lost.

Epigram. The Bucks had dined.


HE mouths a sentence, as curs mouth a bone.

But spite of all the criticizing elves,

The Rosciad. Line 322.

Those who would make us feel-must feel themselves.*

* Si vis me flere, dolendum est

Primum ipsi tibi.-HORACE. Ars Poetica, 102.

Line 861.

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