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Which we call brute, would be more sharp than we. As having sense's apprehensive might
In a more clear and excellent degree.
Awake the fancy, and the wits refine;
Pope. How mind will act with body glorified And spiritualized, and senses fined And pointed brilliantwise, we know not. Here Even it may be wrong in us to deem The senses degradations, otherwise Than as fine steps, whereby the queenly soul Comes down from her bright throne to view the mass She hath dominion over, and the things Of her inheritance; and re-ascends With an indignant fiery purity Not to be touched, her seat.
Sensibility, how charming,
Thou, my friend, canst truly tell;
Thou hast also known too well!
Finer feelings can bestow!
Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
Burns. SERENITY. SEVERITY.
And the repress'd convulsion of the high
Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour,
Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead; And the spirit becalm'd but remember'd their power, As the billow the force of the gale that was fled!
To see the stars of evening glow;
So restless in the wave below.
But earthly hope, how bright soe'er,
As false and fleeting as 't is fair.
SEVERITY. THOUGH sprightly, gentle, though polite, sincere. And only of thyself a judge severe. Beattie.
There was a brightening paleness in his face,
W. S. Lander. 572
SERVANTS. SERVICE. SERVILE.
From the king
one than many. Massinger.
Expect not more from servants than is just;
Massinger. Small service is true service while it lasts,
Of friends however humble scorn not one; The daisy by the shadow that it casts, · Protects the lingering dew-drop from the sun.
SERVILE. YET as winds sing through a hollow tree, And, (since it lets them pass through,) lets it stand; But a tree solid (since it gives no way To their wild rage,) they rend up by the root; So this whole man, (That will not wind with every crooked way, Trod by the servile world,) shall reel and fall Before the frantic puffs of blind-born chance.
Checkered Shade, Checkered Shade!
I can bear scorpions' stings, tread fields of fire;
Joanna Baillie. 574
SHARE. SHELLS. SHEPHERD.
Of pearly hue
SHEPHERD. Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To Shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroidered canopy To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery? () yes, it doth; a thousand fold it doth. And to conclude,—The Shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup; His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason wait upon him.