Temper.
When moralists, religionists, and philosophers of all sorts, set about reasoning on the phenomena of the world we live in, and contemplating the mass of human misery to be found therein, trace it to fearful crimes, they overlook one little cause of suffering which blights more happiness, and neutralises a greater portion of God’s bounteous favours, than all the heinous enormities of our depraved race put together. This hateful, stealthy, heart-destroying blight is often found, where every thing like atrocious vice is utterly unknown, and where many of the highest virtues flourish. All may exist, with a sour temper!
Set forms of expression—Philips.
Set forms of expression inserted for imitation, by Edward Philips, a nephew of Milton’s.
Forms of expression.
You are the miracle of friendship.
You are the usurer of fame.
My genius and yours are friends.
I will unrip my very bosom to you.
My tongue speaks the freedom of my heart.
Sure winter dwells upon your lip, the snow is not more cold.
The sun never met the summer with more joy.
It is no pilgrimage to travel to your lips.
You are a white enchantress, lady, you can enchain me with a smile.
Her name like some celestial fire quickens my spirit.
Midnight would blush at this.
There’s music in her smiles.
I will, like the perfumed winde, sport with your hair. Report could never have a sweeter air to fly in, than your breath.
Would I were secretary to your thoughts.
You walk in artificial clouds, and bathe your silver limbs in wanton dalliance.