THE MOST EXTENSIVE
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Events of all sorts creep or fly exactly as God pleases.
Examine well his milk-white hand, the palm is hardly clean,--but here and there an ugly smutch appears. Foh! It was a bribe that left it. He has touched corruption.
Fancy, like the finger of a clock,
Runs the great circuit, and is still at home.
Far happier are the dead methinks than they who look for death and fear it every day.
Farewell! "But not for ever."
Fashion, leader of a chatt'ring train,
Whom man for his own hurt permits to reign
Who shifts and changes all things but his shape,
And would degrade her vot'ry to an ape,
The fruitful parent of abuse and wrong,
Holds a usurp'd dominion o'er his tongue,
There sits and prompts him with his own disgrace,
Prescribes the theme, the tone, and the grimace,
And when accomplish'd in her wayward school,
Calls gentleman whom she has made a fool.
Flavia, most tender of her own good name, is rather careless of a sister's fame.
Folly ends where genuine hope begins.
Forgot the blush that virgin fears impart
To modest cheeks, and borrowed one from art.
From such apostles, oh ye mitred heads,
Preserve the church; and lay not careless hands
On skulls that cannot teach, and will not learn.
From thoughtless youth to ruminating age.
Go, mark the matchless working of the power
That shuts within the seed the future flower;
Bids these in elegance of form excel.
In color these, and those delight the smell;
Sends nature forth, the daughter of the skies,
To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes.
Good sense, good health, good conscience, and good fame,--all these belong to virtue, and all prove that virtue has a title to your love.
Habits are soon assumed; but when we strive to strip them off, 'tis being flayed alive.
Happy the man who sees a God employed in all the good and ills that checker life.
He finds his fellow guilty of a skin
Not color'd like his own, and having pow'r
T' enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause
Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey.
He holds no parley with unmanly fears,
Where duty bids he confident steers,
Faces a thousand dangers at her call,
And, trusting to his God, surmounts them all.
He is ours,
T' administer, to guard, t' adorn the state,
But not to warp or change it. We are his,
To serve him nobly in the common cause,
True to the death, but not to be his slaves.
He that attends to his interior self,
That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind
That hungers, and supplies it; and who seeks
A social, not a dissipated life,
He that runs may read.
He would stroke
The head of modest and ingenuous youth,
That blushed at its own praise.
Heaven speed the canvas, gallantly unfurl'd,
To furnish and accommodate a world,
To give the Pole the produce of the sun,
And knit the unsocial climates into one.
Heaven's harmony is universal love.
Here rills of oily eloquence in soft
Meanders lubricate the course they take.
His still refuted quirks he still repeats.
New-raised objections with new quibbles meets;
Till sinking in the quicksand he defends,
He dies disputing, and the contest ends.
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