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

parted,

And many grown apart, as time hath sped-
Till we have almost deem'd that the true-hearted
Abided only with the faithful dead.

And some we trusted with a fond believing,
Have turn'd and stung us to the bosom's core;
And life hath seem'd but as a vain deceiving
From which we turn aside heart-sick and sore.
Mrs. C. M. Chandler.

Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too.

Shaks. Macbeth.

If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime,
Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron,
That you shall think the devil has come from hell.
Shake. King Jokn.

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.

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

If I must contend, said he,

Best with the best, the sender not the sent,
Or all at once; more glory will be won,
Or less be lost.

Milton's Paradise Lost.

Then, when I am thy captive, talk of chains,
Proud limitary cherub, but cre then
Far heavier load thyself expect to feel
From my prevailing arm, though heav'n's king
Ride on thy wings, and thou with thy compeers,
Us'd to the yoke, draw'st his triumphant wheels
In progress through the road of heav'n star-pav'd.
Milton's Paradise Lost.

Our puissance is our own; our own right hand
Shall teach us highest deeds, by proof to try
Who is our equal: then thou shalt behold
Whether by supplication we intend
Address, and to begirt the Almighty throne
Beseeching or besieging.

Milton's Paradise Lost.

I scorn (quoth she) thou coxcomb silly,
Quarter or counsel from a foe,
If thou canst force me to it, do.

Butler's Hudibras.

Enough for me: with joy I see
The different doom our fates assign;
Be thine despair and sceptred care,
To triumph and to die are mine.

Gray's Bard

Torture thou may'st, but thou shalt ne'er despise

me:

Let them wield the thunder,

Fell is their dint, who're mailed in despair.

Maturin's Bertrum.

(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hand upon your sword,)

I tell thee thou'rt defied!

And if thou sajid'st, I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied.

Scott's Marmion.

He halts, and turns with clenched hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,
And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

Scott's Marmion.

The mountaineer cast glance of pride
Along Benledi's living side,

Then fix'd his eye and sable brow,
Full on Fitz-James-"How say'st thou now?"
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true;
And, Saxon,-I am Roderic Dhu!"

Scott's Lady of the Lake.

The shivering band stood oft aghast,
At the impatient glance he cast;—
Such glance the mountain eagle threw,
As from the cliffs of Ben-venue
She spread her dark sails on the wind,
And high in middle heaven reclined,
With her broad shadow on the lake,
Silenced the warbler of the brake.

Scott's Lady of the Lake

On his dark face a scorching clime,
And toil had done the work of time,
Roughen'd the brow, the temples bared,
And sable hairs with silver shared,
Yet left what age alone could tame
The lip of pride, the eye of flame,
The full-drawn lip that upward curled,
The eye that seem'd to scorn the world.
Scott's Rokeby

The blood will follow, where the knive is driven;
The flesh will quiver, where the pincers tear;
And sighs and cries by nature grow on pain:
But these are foreign to the soul: not mine
The groans
that issue, or the tears that fall;
They disobey me; -on the rack I scorn thee.
Young's Revenge.
Thou think'st I fear thee, cursed reptile,
And hast a pleasure in the damned thought.
Though my heart's blood should curdle at thy A life like thine to other wretches - live!

sight,

1'll stay and face thee still.

Joanna Baillie's De Montford. On this spot I stand, The champion of despair-this arm my brandThis breast my panoply-and for my gage(Oh thou hast reft from me all knightly pledge!) Take these black hairs torn from a head that hates thee,

Go, wretch! and give

Byron's Heaven and Earth.
Go, sun, while mercy holds me up

On Nature's awful waste
To drink this last and bitter cup

Of grief that man shall taste.
Go, tell that night that hides thy face,
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,

On Earth's sepulchral clod,
The darkening universe defy

Deep be their dye before that pledge is ransom'd-To quench his immortality,

In thine heart's blood or mine.

Or shake his trust in God!

Maturin's Bertram.

Campbell

No-though of all earth's hope bercft,
Life, swords, and vengeance still are left.
We'll make yon valley's reeking caves
Live in the awe-struck minds of men,
Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves
Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen.

Stand! the ground's your own, my braves!
Will ye give it up to slaves?

Will ye look for greener graves?

Hope ye mercy still?

What's the mercy despots feel?
Hear it in yon cannon's peal,
See it on yon bristling steel,
Ask it ye who will!

Woe to the British soldiery

That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear:
When waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us

Are beat to earth again.

Moore.

Shaks. Richard III
Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb:
And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe
To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub,
To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where sits deformity to make my body;
To shape my legs of an unequal size;
To disproportion me in every part,
Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp,
That carries no impression like the dam.
And am I then a man to be belov'd?

Shaks. Henry VI. Part III
Nature herself started back when thou wert born,
And cried, the work 's not mine.

The midwife stood aghast; and when she saw
Thy mountain-back, and thy distorted legs,
Thy face itself

Half-minted with the royal stamp of man,

And half o'ercome with beast, she doubted long
Whose right in thee were more;

And knew not if to burn thee in the flames
Were not the holier work.

Lee's Edipus.

Am I to blame, if nature threw my body
In so perverse a mould! yet when she cast
Her envious hand upon my supple joints,
Unable to resist, and rumpled them

On heaps in their dark lodging; to revenge
Pierpont. Her bungled work, she stamped my mind more

fair,

And as from chaos, huddled and deform'd,
The gods struck fire, and lighted up the lamps
That beautify the sky; so she inform'd
This ill-shap'd body with a daring soul,
And, making less than man, she made me more
Lee's Edipus

Deformity is daring;
Bryant. It is its essence to o'ertake mankind

The Lord rebuke thee, thou smiter of the meek, Thou robber of the righteous, thou trampler of the weak!

By heart and soul, and make itself the equal-
Ay, the superior of the rest. There is
A spur in its halt movements, to become

Go, light the dark, cold hearth-stones-go turn the All that the others cannot, in such things
prison lock

Of the poor hearts thou hast hunted, thou wolf amid the flock. Whittier.

As still are free for both, to compensate
For stepdame Nature's avarice at first.
Byron's Deformed Transformed

Do you dare you To taunt me with my born deformity?

Byron's Deformed Transformed
Glorious ambition!

I love thee most in dwarfs.

These are thy glorious works, parent of good,
Almighty thine this universal frame,

Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable, who sit'st above these heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly seen

Byron's Deformed Transformed. In these thy lowest works; yet these declare

Neve. aid bring forth a man without a man;
Nor could the first man, being but
The passive subject, not the active mover,
Be the maker of himself; so of necessity
There must be a superior pow'r to nature.
Tourneur's Atheist's Tragedy.

It is not so with him that all things knows,
As 'tis with us, that square our guess by shows:
But most it is presumption in us, when
The help of heav'n, we count the act of men.
Shaks. All's Well.
It did not please the gods, who instruct the people :
And their unquestion'd pleasures must be serv'd.
They know what's fitter for us, than ourselves:
And 't were impiety to think against them.

Jonson's Catiline.
"Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend
Him, as he is, is labour without end.

Herrick.

And chiefly thou, O spirit, that dost prefer,
Before all temples, the upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou know'st.

Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine.
Milton's Paradise Lost

Beyond compare the son of God was seen
Most glorious; in him all his father shone
Substantially express'd; and in his face
Divine compassion visibly appear'd,
Love without end, and without measure grace.
Milton's Paradise Lost.

From nature's constant or eccentric laws,

The thoughtful soul this general inference draws,
That an effect must pre-suppose a cause:
And, while she does her upward flight sustain,
Touching each link of the continued chain,
At length she is oblig'd and forc'd to sce
A first, a source, a life, a deity;
What has for ever been, and must for ever be.
Prior's Soloman.

In this wild maze their vain endeavours end;
How can the less the greater comprehend,
Or finite reason reach infinity?
For what could fathom God were more than He.
Dryden's Religio Laici.

Hail, source of being! universal soul
Of heaven and earth! essential presence, hail!
To thee I bend the knee; to thee my thoughts
Continual climb; who, with a master hand,
Hast the great whole into perfection touch'd.
Thomson's Seasons.

With what an awful world-revolving power
Were first the unwieldy planets launch'd along
The illimitable void! Thus to remain
Amid the flux of many thousand years,

Milton's Paradise Lost. That oft has swept the toiling race of men,

For wonderful indeed are all his works,
('leasant to know, and worthiest to be all
Had in remembrance always with delight;
But what created mind can comprehend
Their number, or the wisdom infinite
l'hat brought them forth, but hid their causes deep.
Milton's Paradise Lost.

And all their labour'd monuments away,
Firm, unremitting, matchless in their course.
To the kind-temper'd change of night and day,
And of the seasons ever stealing round,
Minutely faithful: such the all-perfect hand!
That pois'd, impels, and rules the steady whole.

Thomson's Seasons