Gently to one of gentle mould, like thee,

DEBTS.

Oh, how you wrong our friendship, valiant youth!
With friends there is not such a word as debt:
Where amity is ty'd with band of truth,
All benefits are there in common set.

Lady Carew's Mariam.
Dost think, friend,

The sense of all my debts could shake me thus?
I know 't would come, and in my fears examin'd
The mischief they present; 't is not their weight
Affrights me: let the vultures whet their talons;
And creditors, with hearts more stubborn than
The metal they adore, double their malice;
Had I a pile of debts upon me, more
Heavy than all the world, it could not, but with
The pressure, keep this piece of earth beneath 'em:
My soul would be at large, and feel no burthen.
Shirley's Example.

You have outrun your fortune;

I blame you not that you would be a beggar;

As light winds, wandering through groves of Each to his taste! But I do charge you, Sir,

bloom,

Detach the delicate blossoms from the tree. Close thy sweet eyes calmly, and without pain, And we will trust in God to see thee yet again.

Bryant.

That, being beggar'd, you should win false moneys
Out of that crucible call'd DEBT!

The ghost of many a veteran bill
Shall hover around his slumbers.

Bulwer.

O. W. Holmes.

The ghostly dun shall worry his sleep,
And constables cluster around him,

So live, that, when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take And he shall creep from the wood-hole deep

His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon; but sustain'd and
sooth'd

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one that draws the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Bryant's Thanatopsis.

Where their spectre eyes have found him.
O. W. Holmes.

DECAY.

I've touched the highest point of all my greatness:
And from that full meridian of my glory,
I haste now to my setting.

Shaks. King Henry VIII.

Before decay's effacing fingers
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers.
Byron's Giaour.

But in the glow of vernal pride,
If each warm hope at once hath died,
Then sinks the mind, a blighted flower,
Dead to the sunbeam and the shower;
A broken gem, whose inborn light
Is scatter'd ne'er to reunite.

Mrs. Norton.

O. W. Holmes.

Puts pirate's colours out at both our sterns,
That we might fight each other in mistake,
That he should share the ruin of us both!
Crown's Ambitious Statesman.

Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
Shaks. Twelfth Night.
Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes,
And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice!

Shaks. Richard III.
Smooth runs the water, where the brook is deep;
And in his simple show he harbours treason.
The fox barks not, when he would steal the lamb.
No, no, my sovereign; Gloster is a man
Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit.

Shaks. Henry VI.
Get thee glass eyes;

And like a scurvy politician, seem
To see the things thou dost not.

Shaks. Lear.

They say this town is full of cozenage;
As nimble jugglers. that deceive the eye,
Dark-working sorcerers, that change the mind,
Soul-killing witches, that deform the body;
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,
And many such like libertines of sin.

Shaks. Comedy of Errors.
O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell,
When thou did'st bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?
Was ever book containing such vile matter,
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace.

Shaks. Romeo and Juliet.

So are those crisped snaky golden locks,
Which make such wanton gambols with the wind,
Upon supposed fairness, often known
To be the dowry of a second head,
The skull that bred them in a sepulchre.
Otway's Venice Preserved.
Every man in this age has not a soul
Of crystal, for all men to read their actions
Through: men's hearts and faces are so far asunder
That they hold no intelligence.

Beaumont and Fletcher's Philaster.

I, under fair pretence of friendly ends,
And well-plac'd words of glossy courtesy,
Baited with reason not unplausible,
| Wind me into the easy-hearted man,
And hug him into snares.

Milton's Comus.

I pray thee, bear my former answer back;
Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones,
Good God! why should they mock poor fellows
thus?

The man that once did sell the lion's skin

False wave of the desert, thou art less beguiling
Than false beauty over the lighted hall shed:
What but the smiles that have practised their While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him.

Shaks. Henry V.

What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the ragged Russian bear, Miss Landon. The arm'd rhinocerus, 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!

Gentle heaven,

Shaks. Macbeth.

Cut short all intermission; front to front,

Ah! many hearts have changed since we two Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;

parted,

Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,

Thou losest labour:

As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air

Let him do his spite:

My services, which I have done the signiory,

With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed: Shall out-tongue his complaints.
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests.

Marry,

Shaks. Macbeth.

Thou dost wrong me, thou dissembler, thou;-
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword,
I fear thee not.

Shaks. Much Ado.

I pry'thee take thy fingers from my throat;
For though I am not splenetive and rash,
Yet have I in me something dangerous,

Shaks. Othello

The elements

Of whom your swords are temper'd may as well
Wound the loud winds, or with be-mocked-at stabs
Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish
One dowle that's in my plume.

Shaks. Tempest.

Let them come;

They come like sacrifices in their trim,
And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war,

Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand. All hot and bleeding, will we offer them.

Shaks. Hamlet.

Why, I will fight with him upon this theme
Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

Shaks. Hamlet.
Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares?
Shaks. Julius Cæsar.
Neither the king, nor him that loves him best,
The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,
Dares stir a wing, if Warwick stir his bells.
I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares.
Shaks. Henry VI. Part III.

I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,
And with the other fling it at thy face,
Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.

Shaks. Henry IV. Part I
If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest;
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.
Shaks. Richard II.
Who sets me else? by heaven I'll throw at all;
I have a thousand spirits in my breast,
To answer twenty thousand such as you.

Shaks. Henry VI. Part III. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.
Shaks. Richard II

My ashes, as the Phoenix, may bring forth
A bird that will revenge upon you all:
And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.

Shaks. Henry VI. Part III.

What I did, I did in honour, Led by th' impartial conduct of my soul; And never shall you sce, that I will beg A ragged and forestall'd remission.

Shaks. Henry IV. Part II.

Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death,
Vagabond, exile, flaying: Pent to linger
But with a grain a day, I would not buy
Their mercy at the price of one fair word.
Shaks. Coriolanus.

Behold! I have a weapon:
A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day,
That with this little arm, and this good sword,
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your stop.

Shaks. Othello.

Thou trumpet, there's my purse,
Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe:
Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek
Outswell the cholic of puff'd Aquilon:
Come stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout
blood;

Thou blow'st for Hector.

Shaks. Troilus and Cressida.
Whence and what art thou, execrable shape,
That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance
Thy miscreated front athwart my way

To yonder gates? through them I mean to pass
That be assur'd, without leave ask'd of thee:
Retire or taste thy folly, and learn by proof,
Hell-born, not to contend with spirits of heaven.
Milton's Paradise Lost.

Reckonest thou thyself with spirits of heaven,
Hell-doom'd, and breathest defiance here and scorn,
Where I reign king, and to enrage thee more,
Thy king and lord?

Milton's Paradise Lost