He, when young Spring protrudes the bursting gems, And not an opening blossom breathes in vain. Thomson's Seasons-Autumn. Oh! blest of Heaven, whom not the languid songs Of sordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store To charm the enliven'd soul! Akenside's Pleasures of Imagination, b. 3. Happiest of men! if the same soil invites A chosen few, companions of his youth, Once fellow-rakes, perhaps, now rural friends; With whom in easy commerce to pursue Nature's free charms, and vie for sylvan fame : A fair ambition, void of strife or guile, Or jealousy, or pain to be outdone. Armstrong's Art of Preserving Health, b. 3. Ye who amid this feverish world would wear Ibid. b. 1. The love of nature, and the scenes she draws For the unscented fictions of the loom. Cowper's Task, b. 1. Scenes must be beautiful which daily view'd Cowper's Task, b. 1. The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns; These Flora banishes, and gives the fair Sweet smiles and bloom less transient than her own. Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds God made the country, and man made the town. Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness, groves. Might never reach me more! My ear is pain'd, Of wrong and outrage with which earth is fill’d. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. b. 2. How various his employments, whom the world Dressed to his taste, inviting him abroad. Cowper's Task, b. 3. They love the country, and none else, who seek Cultured and capable of sober thought. Ev'n in the stifling bosom of the town, Ibid A garden in which nothing thrives, has charms But slighted as it is, and by the great Ibid. b. 4, 'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat Meditation here Fbid Ibid. May think down hours to moments. Here the heart May give an useful lesson to the head, And learning wiser grow without his books. Ibid. b. 6. Half-way up He built his house, whence by stealth he caught, That soothed, not stirred. Rogers' Italy., REVENGE. It wounds indeed, To bear affronts too great to be forgiven, Dryden's Spanish Friar. Give me my love, my honour, give 'em back! Dryden's Don Sebastian. My soul is up in arms, my injur'd honour, Rowe's Lady Jane Grey, a. 2, s. 1. Revenge, th' attribute of gods! they stamp'd it Otway's Venice Preserved. Destruction! swift destruction Fall on my coward head, and make my name The common scorn of fools, if I forgive him. Ibid. Vengeance is still alive; from her dark covert She stalks in view, and fires me with her charms. Young's Revenge, a. 2. How stands the great account 'twixt me and vengeance? Tho' much is paid, yet still it owes me much; And I will not abate a single groan. And art thou dead? So is my enmity: I war not with the dust. Ibid. a. 5. Ibid. If cold white mortals censure this great deed, Patience! my soul disdains its stoic maxim, Beckingham's Henry IV. of France. How rash, how inconsiderate is rage e! Frowde's Philotas. Come then, revenge, and with thee bring along My nature shall be chang'd, and my hot blood Barford's Virgin Queen. What do they think me such a milky boy, Thomson's Coriolanus, a. 3, s. 1. I would consort with mine eternal enemy, Muturin's Bertram, a. 2, ș. 1. His dame doth dwell alone-perchance his child— |