Footnotes
[217:3] Rich with the spoils of time.—Gray: Elegy, stanza 13.
[218:1] The course of Nature is the art of God.—Young: Night Thoughts, night ix. line 1267.
[218:2] See Massinger, page [194].
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.
Milton: Paradise Lost, book i. line 253.
[218:4] The human features and countenance, although composed of but some ten parts or little more, are so fashioned that among so many thousands of men there are no two in existence who cannot be distinguished from one another.—Pliny: Natural History, book vii. chap. i.
Of a thousand shavers, two do not shave so much alike as not to be distinguished.—Johnson (1777).
There never were in the world two opinions alike, no more than two hairs or two grains; the most universal quality is diversity.—Montaigne: Of the Resemblance of Children to their Fathers, book i. chap. xxxvii.
Oh, could you view the melody
Of every grace
And music of her face.
Lovelace: Orpheus to Beasts.
[218:6] See Herbert, page [204].
[219:1] 'T is long since Death had the majority.—Blair: The Grave, part ii. line 449.
[219:2] Adamas de rupe præstantissimus (A most excellent diamond from the rock).
A chip of the old block.—Prior: Life of Burke.
The aspiring youth that fired the Ephesian dome
Outlives in fame the pious fool that raised it.
Cibber: Richard III. act iii. sc. 1.
EDMUND WALLER. 1605-1687.
The yielding marble of her snowy breast.
On a Lady passing through a Crowd of People.
That eagle's fate and mine are one,
Which on the shaft that made him die
Espied a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high.[219:4]
To a Lady singing a Song of his Composing.
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A narrow compass! and yet there
Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair;
Give me but what this riband bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round.
On a Girdle.
For all we know
Of what the blessed do above
Is, that they sing, and that they love.
While I listen to thy Voice.
Poets that lasting marble seek
Must come in Latin or in Greek.
Of English Verse.
Under the tropic is our language spoke,
And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
Upon the Death of the Lord Protector.
Go, lovely rose!
Tell her that wastes her time and me
That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Go, Lovely Rose.
How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
Go, Lovely Rose.
Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse,
And every conqueror creates a muse.
Panegyric on Cromwell.
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In such green palaces the first kings reign'd,
Slept in their shades, and angels entertain'd;
With such old counsellors they did advise,
And by frequenting sacred groves grew wise.
On St. James's Park.
And keeps the palace of the soul.[221:1]
Of Tea.
Poets lose half the praise they should have got,
Could it be known what they discreetly blot.
Upon Roscommon's Translation of Horace, De Arte Poetica.
Could we forbear dispute and practise love,
We should agree as angels do above.
Divine Love. Canto iii.
The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd,
Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made.[221:2]
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become
As they draw near to their eternal home:
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view
That stand upon the threshold of the new.
On the Divine Poems.