|John Bartlett (18201905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.|
|Abraham Cowley. (16181667)|
| What shall I do to be forever known,|
And make the age to come my own?
| The Motto.|
| His time is forever, everywhere his place.|
| Friendship in Absence.|
| We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine,|
But search of deep philosophy,
Wit, eloquence, and poetry;
Arts which I lovd, for they, my friend, were thine.
| On the Death of Mr. William Harvey.|
| His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might|
Be wrong; his life, I m sure, was in the right. 1
| On the Death of Crashaw.|
| The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,|
And drinks, and gapes for drink again;
The plants suck in the earth, and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair.
| From Anacreon, ii. Drinking.|
| Fill all the glasses there, for why|
Should every creature drink but I?
Why, man of morals, tell me why?
| From Anacreon, ii. Drinking.|
| A mighty pain to love it is,|
And t is a pain that pain to miss;
But of all pains, the greatest pain
It is to love, but love in vain.
| From Anacreon, vii. Gold.|
| Hope, of all ills that men endure,|
The only cheap and universal cure.
| The Mistress. For Hope.|
| Th adorning thee with so much art|
Is but a barbrous skill;
T is like the poisning of a dart,
Too apt before to kill.
| The Waiting Maid.|
| Nothing is there to come, and nothing past,|
But an eternal now does always last. 2
| Davideis. Book i. Line 25.||
| When Israel was from bondage led,|
Led by the Almightys hand
From out of foreign land,
The great sea beheld and fled.
| Davideis. Book i. Line 41.|
| An harmless flaming meteor shone for hair,|
And fell adown his shoulders with loose care. 3
| Davideis. Book ii. Line 95.|
| The monster London laugh at me.|
| Of Solitude, xi.|
| Let but thy wicked men from out thee go,|
And all the fools that crowd thee so,
Even thou, who dost thy millions boast,
A village less than Islington wilt grow,
A solitude almost.
| Of Solitude, vii.|
| The fairest garden in her looks,|
And in her mind the wisest books.
| The Garden, i.|
| God the first garden made, and the first city Cain. 4|
| The Garden, ii.|
| Hence, ye profane! I hate ye all,|
Both the great vulgar and the small.
| Horace. Book iii. Ode 1.|
| Charmd with the foolish whistling of a name 5|
| Virgil, Georgics. Book ii. Line 72.|
| Words that weep and tears that speak. 6|
| The Prophet.|
| We grievd, we sighd, we wept; we never blushd before.|
| Discourse concerning the Government of Oliver Cromwell.|
| Thus would I double my lifes fading space;|
For he that runs it well, runs twice his race. 7
| Discourse xi. Of Myself. St. xi.|
For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight,
He cant be wrong whose life is in the right.
Alexander Pope: Essay on Man, epilogue iii. line 303. [back]
One of our poets (which is it?) speaks of an everlasting now.Robert Southey: The Doctor, chap. xxv. p. 1. [back]
Loose his beard and hoary hair
Streamd like a meteor to the troubled air.
Thomas Gray: The Bard, i. 2. [back]
See Bacon, Quotation 32. [back]
Ravishd with the whistling of a name.Alexander Pope: Essay on Man, epistle iv. line 281. [back]
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.Thomas Gray: Progress of Poesy, iii. 3, 4. [back]
For he lives twice who can at once employ
The present well, and evn the past enjoy.
Alexander Pope: Imitation of Martial. [back]