Alike all ages: dames of ancient days

Have led their children through the mirthful maze;
And the gay grandsire, skilled in gestic lore,
Has frisked beneath the burden of threescore.
Line 251.

Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies.
Methinks her patient sons before me stand
Where the broad ocean leans against the land.

Line 282.

Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
I see the lords of human kind pass by.* Line 327.

The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms.

Line 356.

For just experience tells, in every soil,
That those that think must govern those that toil.
Line 372.

Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law.

Line 386.

Forced from their homes, a melancholy train.

Line 409.

Vain, very vain, my weary search to find
That bliss which only centres in the mind.

Line 423.

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made.

Line 13.

* Lord of human kind. — Dryden. The Spanish Friar, Act ii. Sc. 1.

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay.
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade,
A breath can make them as a breath has made; *
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied.

Line 61.

And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. Line 62.

How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these, A youth of labor with an age of ease.

Line 99.

While resignation gently slopes the way,-
And, all his prospects brightening to the last,
His heaven commences ere the world be past.

Line 100.

The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering

wind,

And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.

Line 121.

A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year.

Line 141.

Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were

won.

Line 157.

*C'est un verre qui luit,

Qu'un souffle peut détruire, et qu'un souffle a produit.
De Caux. (Comparing the world to his hour-glass-)
Who pants for glory finds but short repose;
A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows.

Pope. Horace, Book ii. Epistle 1.

Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

Line 161.

And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side.

Line 164.

Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Line 170.

Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, And fools who came to scoff, remained to pray.

Line 179.

And plucked his gown, to share the good man's

smile.

Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

Line 184.

Line 192.

Full well the busy whisper, circling round,
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned.

Line 203.

In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill,
For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still;
While words of learned length and thundering
sound

Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around;
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew
That one small head could carry all he knew.

Line 211.

The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnished clock that clicked behind the door, The chest contrived a double debt to pay,

A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day.

Line 227.

To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art.

Line 253

And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy?

Line 263.

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.

Line 329.

O Luxury! thou cursed by Heaven's decree.

Line 385.

That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so. Line 414.

RETALIATION.

Who mixed reason with pleasure, and wisdom with

mirth.

Line 24.

Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.

Line 31.

Though equal to all things, for all things unfit; Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit.

A flattering painter who made it his care,
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.

Line 63.

An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man.

As a wit, if not first, in the very first line.

Line 94.

Line 96.

He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack, For he knew, when he pleased, he could whistle them back.

Line 107.

VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.

Man wants but little here below,

Nor wants that little long.*

Chap. viii. The Hermit.

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.

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,

Ibid.