By tyranny, or rigour of compulsion,
Like tempest-threatened trees, unfirmly rooted,
Ne'er spring to timely growth.
John Ford's Broken Heart
O! there is one affection which no stain
Of earth can ever darken ;—when two find,
The softer and the manlier, that a chain
Of kindred taste has fastened mind to mind,
"Tis an attraction from all sense refined;
The good can only know it; 'tis not blind,
As love is unto baseness; its desire
Is but with hands entwined to lift our being higher
Percival's Poenus
Ah! could you look into my heart,
And watch your image there!
You would own the sunny loveliness
Affection makes it wear.
But this shall be a token thou hast been
A friend to him who pluck'd these lovely flowers,
And sent them as a tribute to a friend,
And a remembrance of the few kind hours
Which lightened on the darkness of my path.
On the door you will not enter,
I have gazed too long-adieu!
Hope withdraws her peradventure-
Death is near me and not you.
What war so cruel, or what siege so sore,
As that which strong affections do apply
Against the fort of reason, evermore
To bring the soul into captivity!
The careful cold hath nipt my rugged rind,
And in my face deep furrows eld hath plight;
My head besprent with hoary frost I find,
And by mine eye the crow his claw doth wright:
Delight is laid abed, and pleasure past;
No sun now shines, clouds have all overcast.
Spenser's Shepherd's Calendar.
These old fellows have
Their ingratitude in them hereditary:
Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows;
'Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind
And nature, as it grows again toward earth,
Is fashion'd for the journey-dull and heavy.
Shaks. Timon.
O let us have him; for his silver hairs
Spenser's Fairy Queen. Will purchase us a good opini、n,
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And buy men's voices to commend our deeds;
It shall be said, his judgment rul'd our hands;
Our youths, and wildness shall no wit appear,
But all be bury'd in his gravity.
Shaks. Julius Cæsar.
Youth no less becomes
The light and careless livery that it wears,
Than settled age his sables and his weeds,
Importing health, and graveness.
Shaks. Hamlet
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty:
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.
I know thee not, old man: fall to thy prayers.
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester'
Nature in you stands on the very verge
Of her confine; you should be rul'd and led
By some discretion, that discerns your state
Better than you yourself.
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.
Of no distemper, of no blast he died,
But fell like autumn fruit that mellowed long,
Even wonder'd at because he dropped no sooner;
Fate seem'd to wind him up for fourscore years,
Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more,
Till, like a clock worn out with eating time,
The wheels of weary life at last stood still.
Lee's Edipus
Learn to live well, or fairly make your will;
You've play'd, and lov'd, and ate, and drank your
fill,
Walk sober off before a sprightlier age
Comes tittering on, and shoves you from the stage:
Leave such to trifle with more grace and ease,
Whom folly pleases, and whose follies please.
This heart, by age and grief congeal'd,
Is no more sensible of love's endearments,
Than are our barren rocks to morn's sweet dew,
That calmly trickles down their rugged cheeks.
Miller's Mahomet.
Shaks. As you like it. His mien is lofty, his demeanour great,
Last scene of all,
Nor sprightly folly wantons in his air,
Nor dull serenity becalms his eyes,
Such had I trusted once as soon as seen,
But cautious age suspects the flattering form,
And only credits what experience tells.
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
Shaks. As you like it.
Behold where age's wretched victim lies,
See his head trembling, and his half clos'd eyes,
Frequent for breath his panting bosom heaves;
To broken sleep his remnant sense he gives,
And only by his pains, awaking, finds he lives.
Dr. Johnson's Irene. The still returning tale, and lingering jest, Perplex the fawning niece, and pamper'd guest, While growing hopes scarce awe the gath'ring
Prior's Solomon. And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear.
These are the effects of doting age,
Vain doubts, and idle cares, and over caution.
Dryden's Sebastian.
Thirst of power and of riches now bear sway,
The passion and infirmity of age.
Frowde's Philotas.
Age sits with decent grace upon his visage,
And worthily becomes his silver locks;
He wears the marks of many years well spent,
Of virtue, truth well tried, and wise experience.
Rowe's Jane Shore.
Those wise old men, those plodding grave state
pedants,
Forget the course of youth; their crooked pru-
dence,
To baseness verging still, forgets to take
Into their fine-spun schemes the generous heart,
That through the cobweb system bursting, lays
The labours waste.
Dr. Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes.
Though old, he still retained
His manly sense, and energy of mind.
Virtuous and wise he was, but not severe;
He still remember'd that he once was young:
His easy presence check'd no decent joy,
Him even the dissolute admir'd; for he
A graceful looseness, when he pleas'd, put on,
And laughing could instruct.
Armstrong's Art of preserving Health.
Fresh hopes are hourly sown
In furrow'd brows: To gentle life's descent,
We shut our eyes, and think it is a plain :
We take fair days in winter, for the spring;
And turn our blessings into bane.
O my coevals! remnants of ourselves!
Poor human ruins tottering o'er the grave!
Shall we, shall aged men, like aged trees,
Thomson's Tancred and Sigismunda. Strike deeper their vile root, and closer cling,
AGRICULTURE-ALARM-AMAZEMENT - AMBITION.
Still more enamour'd of this wretched soil!
Shall our pale, wither'd hands be still stretch'd out,
Trembling, at once with eagerness and age ?
With av'rice, and convulsions, grasping hard?
Grasping at air; for what has earth beside?
Man wants but little; nor that little long;
How soon must he resign his very dust,
Which frugal nature lent him for an hour!
Young's Night Thoughts.
What folly can be ranker? like our shadows,
Our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
Young's Night Thoughts.
Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat
Defects of judgment, and the will subdue;
Walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore
Of that vast ocean it must sail so soon.
And who would drop one pleasant link
From memory's golden chain?
Or lose a sorrow, losing too
The love that soothed the pain?
Oh! still may heaven within my soul
Keep truth and love alive,-
Then angel graces will be mine,
Though over thirty-five.
In ancient times, the sacred plough employ'd
The kings, and awful fathers of mankind:
And some, with whom compared your insect tribes
Are but the beings of a summer's day,
Have held the scale of empire, ruled the storm
Young's Night Thoughts. Of mighty war, then, with unweary'd hand,
Disdaining little delicacies, seized
The plough, and greatly independent lived.
Thomson's Seasons.
Thus aged men, full loth and slow,
The vanities of life forego,
And count their youthful follies o'er,
Till memory lends her light no more.
To see the blush of morning gone.
True, time will sear and blanch my brow:
Well-I shall sit with aged men,
And my good glass will tell me how
A grisly beard becomes me then.
And should no foul dishonour lie
O sacred hunger of ambitious mindes,
And impotent desire of men to raine!
Whom neither dread of God, that devils bindes,
Nor lawes of men, that common weales containe,
Nor bands of nature, that wilde beastes restraine,
Can keep from outrage, and from doing wrong,
Where they may hope a kingdome to obtaine
No faith so firm, no trust can be so strong,
No love so lasting then, that may enduren long.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.
Bryant's Poems. Some thought to raise themselves to high degrea
By riches and unrighteous reward;
Some by close should'ring; some by flatteree.
Others through friends; others for base regard.
And all, by wrong waies, femselves prepared
Upon my head when I am grey, Love yet may search my fading eye,
And smooth the path of my decay.
I'm thirty-five, I'm thirty-five!
Nor would I make it less,
For not a year has pass'd away
Unmark'd by happiness.
Those that were up themselves, kept others low;
Those that were low themselves, held others hard,
Ne suffered them to ryse or greater grow:
But every one did strive his fellow down to throw.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.
Nature, that framed us of four elements,
Warring within our breasts for regimen,
Doth teach us all to have aspiring minds:
Our souls, whose faculties can comprehend
The wondrous architecture of the world,
And measure ev'ry wand'ring planet's course,
Still climbing after knowledge infinite,
And always moving as the restless spheres,
Wills us to wear ourselves, and never rest
Until we reach the ripest fruit of all,
That perfect bliss and sole felicity,
The sweet fruition of a heav'nly crown.
Marlo's 1st part of Tamerlane the Great. Who soars too near the sun, with golden wings, Melts them;-to ruin his own fortune brings. Shaks. Cromwell.
Thriftless ambition! that will ravin up
Thine own life's means.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels; how can man then, The image of his maker, hope to win by't? Shaks. Henry VIII.
I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory: But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Shaks. Henry VIII. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye; I feel my heart new open'd: O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.
Shaks. Henry VIII.
"Tis a common proof,
That lowness is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber upwards turns his face:
But when he once attains the upmost round,
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
by which he did ascend.
That would'st thou holily: would'st not play false, And yet would'st wrongly win.
Shaks. Macbeth. Follow I must, I cannot go before, While Gloster bears this base and humble mind. Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, I would remove these tedious stumbling blocks, And smooth my way upon their headless necks. Shaks. Henry VI. Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must rule, And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns. Shaks. Henry VI Ambition hath but two steps: the lowest, Blood; the highest, envy.
A friend, in his creation, to himself,
And may, with fit ambition, conceive
The greatest blessings, and the brightest honours
Appointed for him, if he can achieve them
The right and noble way.
Philip Massinger's Guardian. Our natures are like oil; compound us with any thing
Yet still we strive to swim upon the top.
Beaumont and Fletcher's Loyal Subject.
Be not with honour's gilded baits beguil'd,
Nor think ambition wise, because 'tis brave;
For though we like it, as a forward child,
"Tis so unsound, her cradle is her grave.
Sir W. Davenant's Gondibert.
Ambition's monstrous stomach does increase
By eating, and it fears to starve, unless
It still may feed, and all it secs devour:
Ambition is a lust that's never quenched,
Grows more cnflamed, and madder by enjoyment.
Otway's Caius Marius.
Ambition, like a torrent, ne'er looks back,
It is a swelling, and the last affection
A high mind can put off. It is a rebel
Both to the soul and reason, and enforces
All laws, all conscience; treads upon religion,
And offers violence to nature's self.
Ben Jonson's Catiline.
Here we may reign secure, and in my choice
To reign is worth ambition, though in hell.
Milton's Paradise Lost.
His trust was with th' Eternal to be deem'd
Equal in strength, and rather than be less
Car'd not to be at all; with that care lost
Went all his fear of God, or hell, or worse,
He reck'd not.
Milton's Paradise Lost. Lifted up so high
Thou lying phantom! whither hast thou lured me!
Ev'n to this giddy height; where now I stand
Ambition is not tir'd with toil nor cloy'd with Forsaken, comfortless; with not a friend
Sir W. Davenant's Playhouse to let.
Ambition is the mind's immodesty.
In whom my soul can trust.
Brown's Barbarossa
What's all the gaudy glitter of a crown;
What but the glaring meteor of ambition,
Sir W. Davenant's Gondibert. That leads the wretch benighted in his errors,
Points to the gulf, and shines upon destruction.
Brooke's Gustavus Vase
Ambition is a spirit in the world,
That causes all the ebbs and flows of nations,
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