And wit that's made of wit and sleight
Is richer than the plain downright :
As salt that's made of salt's more fine
Than when it first came from the brine,
And spirit's of a nobler nature

Drawn from the dull ingredient matter.

UPON THE WEAKNESS AND MISERY OF MAN.

Our pains are real things, and all
Our pleasures but fantastical.
Diseases of their own accord,
But cures come difficult and hard.
Our noblest piles and stateliest rooms
Are but outhouses to our tombs ;
Cities though ne'er so great and brave
But mere warehouses to the grave.
Our bravery's but a vain disguise
To hide us from the world's dull eyes,
The remedy of a defect

With which our nakedness is decked,
Yet makes us smile with pride and boast
As if we had gained by being lost.

DISTICHS AND SAWS.

[From Hudibras and Miscellanies.]

Rhyme the rudder is of verses,

With which like ships they steer their courses.

In the hurry of a fray

(1)

(2)

(3) Honour is like a widow, won

With brisk attempt and putting on,

'Tis hard to keep out of harm's way.

With entering manfully and urging;
Not slow approaches, like a virgin.

(4)

Great commanders always own What's prosperous by the soldier done. (5) Great conquerors greater glory gain By foes in triumph led than slain. (6) Ay me! what perils do environ

The man that meddles with cold iron ! (7) Valour's a mousetrap, wit a gin, That women oft are taken in.

(8) In all the trade of war no feat
Is nobler than a brave retreat,
For those that run away and fly
Take place at least of the enemy.
(9) He that runs may fight again,

Which he can never do that's slain. (10) Fools are known by looking wise, As men tell woodcocks by their eyes. (11) Night is the sabbath of mankind To rest the body and the mind.

(12) As if artillery and edge-tools

Were the only engines to save souls! (13) Money that, like the swords of kings, Is the last reason of all things.

(14) He that complies against his will Is of his own opinion still.

(15)

Those that write in rhyme still make
The one verse for the other's sake.

(16) He that will win his dame must do
As Love does when he bends his bow:
With one hand thrust the lady from,
And with the other pull her home.

(17)

What is worth in anything But so much money as 'twill bring? (18) The Public Faith, which every one Is bound to observe, is kept by none.

(19) He that imposes an oath makes it, Not he that for convenience takes it.

(20) Opinion governs all mankind,

Like the blind's leading of the blind.

(21) The worst of rebels never arm

To do their king and country harm,
But draw their swords to do them good,
As doctors use, by letting blood.

(22) The soberest saints are more stiff-neckèd
Than the hottest-headed of the wicked.

(23) Wedlock without love, some say, Is like a lock without a key.

(24) Too much or too little wit

Do only render the owners fit
For nothing, but to be undone
Much easier than if they had none.

(25) In little trades more cheats and lying
Is used in selling than in buying;
But in the great unjuster dealing
Is used in buying than in selling,

(26)

(27)

Loyalty is still the same,
Whether it win or lose the game;
True as the dial to the sun,
Although it be not shined upon.

The subtler all things are,

They're but to nothing the more near.

(28) Things said false and never meant Do oft prove true by accident.

(29) Authority is a disease and cure

Which men can neither want nor weli endure.

ROSCOMMON.

[WENTWORTH DILLON, Earl of Roscommon, was born in Ireland in 1634. He spent the best part of his life in France and Italy, and died in London Jan. 17, 1684-85.]

Lord Roscommon was a man of taste and judgment, who had imbibed in France a liking for Academic forms of literature, and who attempted to be to English poetry what Boileau was to French. He did not come forward as a writer till late in life, when he produced two thin quartos of frigid critical poetry, An Essay on Translated Verse, 1681, and Horace's Art of Poetry, 1684. There was little originality in these polite exercises, but they were smoothly and sensibly written, with a certain gentlemanlike austerity. Pope has noted that, 'in all Charles' days, Roscommon only boasts unspotted lays.' He was the friend of Dryden, and the admirer of Milton, whose sublimity he lauded in terms that recall the later praise of Addison.

EDMUND W. GOSSE.

FROM THE ESSAY ON TRANSLATED VERSE'

On sure foundations let your fabric rise,
And with attractive majesty surprise;
Not by affected, meretricious arts,

But strict harmonious symmetry of parts,

Which through the whole insensibly must pass,

With vital heat to animate the mass;

A pure, an active, an auspicious flame,

And bright as heaven, from whence the blessing came;

But few, few spirits, pre-ordained by fate,

The race of gods, have reached that envied height;

No rebel Titan's sacrilegious crime,

By heaping hills on hills, can thither climb.

The grisly ferry-man of hell denied

Æneas entrance, till he knew his guide;

How justly then will impious mortals fall,

Whose pride would soar to heaven without a call?
Pride, of all others the most dangerous fault,
Proceeds from want of sense, or want of thought;
The men who labour and digest things most
Will be much apter to despond than boast;
For if your author be profoundly good,
'Twill cost you dear before he's understood.
How many ages since has Virgil writ?
How few are they who understand him yet?
Approach his altars with religious fear,
No vulgar deity inhabits there;
Heav'n shakes not more at Jove's imperial nod,
Than poets should before their Mantuan god.
Hail, mighty Maro! may that sacred name
Kindle my breast with thy celestial flame;
Sublime ideas and apt words infuse,

The Muse instruct my voice, and thou inspire the Muse!