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Fulham e'en now disliked the heavy thrall,
And for her death would in his anguish call,
As Rome's mistaken friend exclaim'd, Let Carthage

So felt our hero, so his wish express'd,
Against this powerful sprite-delenda est ;
Rome in her conquest saw not danger near,
Freed from her rival, and without a fear;
So, Conscience conquer'd, men perceive how free,
But not how fatal such a state must be.
Fatal, not free our hero's; foe or friend
Conscience on him was destined to attend :
She dozed indeed, grew dull, nor seem'd to spy
Crime following crime, and each of deeper dye;
But all were noticed, and the reckoning time
With her account came on; crime following crime.

This, once a foe, now brother in the trust,
Whom Fulham late described as fair and just,
Was the sole guardian of a wealthy maid,
Placed in his power, and of his frown afraid :
Not quite an idiot, for her busy brain
Sought, by poor cunning, trifling points to gain;
Success in childish projects her delight,
She took no heed of each important right.
The friendly parties met: the guardian cried,
"I am too old; my sons have each a bride :
Martha, my ward, would make an easy wife;
On easy terms I'll make her yours for life;
And then the creature is so weak and mild,
She may be soothed and threaten'd as a child."—
"Yet not obey," said Fulham," for your fools,
Female and male, are obstinate as mules."

His thoughts were grievous: "All that I possess
From this vile bargain adds to my distress;
To pass a life with one who will not mend,
Who cannot love, nor save, nor wisely spend,
Is a vile prospect, and I see no end;
For if we part, I must of course restore
Much of her money, and must wed no more.

"Is there no way?"-here Conscience rose in

"O! fly the danger of this fatal hour;

I am thy Conscience, faithful, fond, and true,
Ah, fly this thought, or evil must ensue;
Fall on thy knees, and pray with all thy soul,
Thy purpose banish, thy design control;
Let every hope of such advantage cease,
Or never more expect a moment's peace."

Th' affrighten'd man a due attention paid,
Felt the rebuke, and the command obey'd.

Again the wife rebell'd, again express'd
A love for pleasure, a contempt of rest;
"She, whom she pleased, would visit, would

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Mistaken man!" replied the power within.
No guest unnoticed to the lady came,

He judged th' event with mingled joy and shame;
Oft he withdrew, and seem'd to leave her free,
But still as watchful as a lynx was he;
Meanwhile the wife was thoughtless, cool, and gay,
And, without virtue, had no wish to stray.

Some points adjusted, these new friends agreed, Proposed the day, and hurried on the deed.

"Tis a vile act," said Conscience. "It will

Replied the bolder man, “an act of love;
Her wicked guardian might the girl have sold
To endless misery for a tyrant's gold;
Now may her life be happy, for I mean
To keep my temper even and serene."
"I cannot thus compound," the spirit cried,
"Nor have my laws thus broken and defied:
This is a fraud, a bargain for a wife;
Expect my vengeance, or amend your life."

The wife was pretty, trifling, childish, weak;
She could not think, but would not cease to speak:
This he forbade; she took the caution ill,
And boldly rose against his sovereign will;
With idiot cunning she would watch the hour,
When friends were present, to dispute his power:
With tyrant craft, he then was still and calm,
But raised in private terror and alarm :
By many trials, she perceived how far
To vex and tease, without an open war;
And he discover'd that so weak a mind
No art could lead, and no compulsion bind ;
The rudest force would fail such mind to tame,
And she was callous to rebuke and shame :
Proud of her wealth, the power of law she knew,
And would assist him in the spending too :
His threatening words with insult she defied,
To all his reasoning with a stare replied;
And when he begg'd her to attend, would say,
"Attend I will, but let me have my way."

Had crimes less weighty on the spirit press'd,
This troubled Conscience might have sunk to rest;
And, like a foolish guard, been bribed to peace,
By a false promise, that offence should cease;
Past faults had seem'd familiar to the view,
Confused if many, and obscure though true;
And Conscience, troubled with the dull account,
Had dropp'd her tale, and slumber'd o'er th' amount:
But, struck by daring guilt, alert she rose,
Disturb'd, alarm'd, and could no more repose ;
All hopes of friendship and of peace were past,
From me," she cried, "you seek redress in vain." And every view with gloom was overcast.

Nor rest had Conscience: "While you merit


Though thus opposed, his plans were not resign'd;
"Revenge," said he, “will prompt that daring mind;
Refused supplies, insulted and distress'd,
Enraged with me, and near a favourite guest-
Then will her vengeance prompt the daring deed,
And I shall watch, detect her, and be freed."

There was a youth-but let me hide the name,
With all the progress of this deed of shame,
He had his views on him the husband cast
His net, and saw him in his trammels fast.

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Pause but a moment, think what you intend,"
Said the roused sleeper, "I am yet a friend :
Must all our days in enmity be spent?"
"No!" and he paused;-"I surely shall repent."
Then hurried on-the evil plan was laid,
The wife was guilty, and her friend betray'd,
And Fulham gain'd his wish, and for his will was

Hence, from that day, that day of shame and sin,
Arose the restless enmity within;

On no resource could Fulham now rely,
Doom'd all expedients, and in vain, to try;
For Conscience, roused, sat boldly on her throne,
Watch'd every thought, attack'd the foe alone,
And with envenom'd sting drew forth the inward

Expedients fail'd that brought relief before,
In vain his alms gave comfort to the poor,
Give what he would, to him the comfort came no


Not prayer avail'd, and when (his crimes confess'd)
He felt some ease, she said," Are they redress'd?
You still retain the profit, and be sure,
Long as it lasts, this anguish shall endure."

Fulham still tried to soothe her, cheat, mislead ;
But Conscience laid her finger on the deed,
And read the crime with power, and all that must

"O! Conscience! Conscience! man's most faith-
ful friend,

Him canst thou comfort, ease, relieve, defend;
But if he will thy friendly checks forego,
Thou art, O! wo for me, his deadliest foe!"


Yet, spite of all defence, of every aid,
The watchful foe her close attention paid;
In every thoughtful moment on she press'd,
And gave at once her dagger to his breast;
He waked at midnight, and the fears of sin,
As waters, through a bursten dam, broke in ;
Nay, in the banquet, with his friends around,
When all their cares and half their crimes were


Would some chance act awake the slumbering fear,
And care and crime in all their strength appear:
The news is read, a guilty victim swings,
And troubled looks proclaim the bosom-stings;
Some pair are wed; this brings the wife in view,
And some divorced; this shows the parting too;
Nor can he hear of evil word or deed,
But they to thought, and thought to sufferings lead.

Such was his life: no other changes came,
The hurrying day, the conscious night the same;
The night of horror, when he starting cried.
To the poor startled sinner at his side,
"Is it in law? am I condemn'd to die?
Let me escape!-I'll give-O! let me fly-
How! but a dream-no judges! dungeon! chain!
Or these grim men!-I will not sleep again.
Wilt thou, dread being! thus thy promise keep?
Day is thy time-and wilt thou murder sleep?
Sorrow and want repose, and wilt thou come,
Nor give one hour of pure, untroubled gloom?

His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports-
And never noted him in any study,
Any retirement, any sequestration.

He tried t' expel her, but was sure to find
Her strength increased by all that he design'd;
Nor ever was his groan more loud and deep,
Than when refresh'd she rose from momentary sleep.

You cram these words into mine ears, against
The stomach of my sense.

Tempest, act ii. sc. I.

Now desperate grown, weak, harass'd, and afraid,
From new allies he sought for doubtful aid;
To thought itself he strove to bid adieu,
And from devotions to diversions flew;
He took a poor domestic for a slave,

A WEALTHY lord of far-extended land,
Had all that pleased him placed at his command;
Widow'd of late, but finding much relief
In the world's comforts, he dismiss'd his grief;
He was by marriage of his daughters eased,

(Though Avarice grieved to see the price he gave ;) And knew his sons could marry if they pleased:
Upon his board, once frugal, press'd a load
Meantime in travel he indulged the boys,
Of viands rich, the appetite to goad;
And kept no spy nor partner of his joys.

These joys, indeed, were of the grosser kind,
That fed the cravings of an earthly mind;
A mind that, conscious of its own excess,
Felt the reproach his neighbours would express.
Long at th' indulgent board he loved to sit,

Henry V. act i. sc. 1.

I will converse with iron-witted fools,
With unrespective boys; none are for me,
Who look into me with considerate eyes.
Richard III. act iv. sc. 2

The long-protracted meal, the sparkling cup,
Fought with his gloom, and kept his courage up:
Soon as the morning came, there met his eyes
Accounts of wealth, that he might reading rise;
To profit then he gave some active hours,

Till food and wine again should renovate his Where joy was laughter, and profaneness wit;

And such the guest and manners of the hall,
No wedded lady on the 'squire would call:
Here reign'd a favourite, and her triumph gain'd
O'er other favourites who before had reign'd;
Reserved and modest seem'd the nymph to be,
Knowing her lord was charm'd with modesty ;
For he, a sportsman keen, the more enjoy'd,
The greater value had the thing destroy'd.

Our 'squire declared, that, from a wife released
He would no more give trouble to a priest;
Seem'd it not then ungrateful and unkind,
That he should trouble from the priesthood find?
The church he honour'd, and he gave the due
And full respect to every son he knew:
But envied those who had the luck to meet
A gentle pastor, civil and discreet;
Who never bold and hostile sermon penn'd,
To wound a sinner, or to shame a friend;
One whom no being either shunn'd or fear'd,
Such must be loved wherever they appear'd

Not such the stern old rector of the time,
Who soothed no culprit, and who spared no crime,
Who would his fears and his contempt express
For irreligion and licentiousness;
Of him our village lord, his guests among,
By speech vindictive proved his feelings stung.
"Were he a bigot," said the 'squire," whose zeal
Condemn'd us all, I should disdain to feel;
But when a man of parts, in college train'd,
Prates of our conduct, who would not be pain'd

While he declaims (where no one dares reply)
On men abandon'd, grovelling in the sty
(Like beasts in human shape) of shameless luxury.
Yet with a patriot's zeal I stand the shock
Of vile rebuke, example to his flock:
But let this rector, thus severe and proud,
Change his wide surplice for a narrow shroud,
And I will place within his seat a youth,
Train'd by the Graces, to explain the truth;
Then shall the flock with gentle hand be led,
By wisdom won, and by compassion fed.”

This purposed teacher was a sister's son,
Who of her children gave the priesthood one;
And she had early train'd for this employ
The pliant talents of her college boy :
At various times her letters painted all
Her brother's views, the manners of the hall;
The rector's harshness, and the mischief made
By chiding those whom preachers should per-
suade :

This led the youth to views of easy life,
A friendly patron, an obliging wife;
His tithe, his glebe, the garden and the steed,
With books as many as he wish'd to read.

All this accorded with the uncle's will,
He loved a priest compliant, easy, still;
Sums he had often to his favourite sent,

To be," he wrote, " in manly freedom spent ; For well it pleased his spirit to assist An honest lad, who scorn'd a Methodist." His mother, too, in her maternal care, Bade him of canting hypocrites beware; Who from his duties would his heart seduce, And make his talents of no earthly use.

Soon must a trial of his worth be made,The ancient priest is to the tomb convey'd ; And the youth summon'd from a serious friend, His guide and host, new duties to attend.

Three months before, the nephew and the 'squire Saw mutual worth to praise and to admire ; And though the one too early left his wine, The other still exclaim'd-" My boy will shine; Yes, I perceive that he will soon improve, And I shall form the very guide I love; Decent abroad, he will my name defend, And, when at home, be social, and unbend."

The plan was specious, for the mind of James Accorded duly with his uncle's schemes: He then aspired not to a higher name Than sober clerks of moderate talents claim; Gravely to pray, and reverently to preach, Was all he saw, good youth! within his reach. Thus may a mass of sulphur long abide Cold and inert, but to the flame applied, Kindling it blazes, and consuming turns To smoke and poison, as it boils and burns.

James, leaving ege, to a preacher stray'd;
What call'd, he knew not, but the call obey'd
Mild, idle, pensive, ever led by those
Who could some specious novelty propose;
Humbly he listen'd, while the preacher dwelt
On touching themes, and strong emotions felt;
And in this night was fix'd that pliant will
To one sole point, and he retains it still.

At first his care was to himself confined;
Himself assured, he gave it to mankind:
His zeal grew active; honest, earnest zeal,
And comfort dealt to him, he long'd to deal;
VOL. I.-17

He to his favourite preacher now withdrew, Was taught to teach, instructed to subdue; And train'd for ghostly warfare, when the call Of his new duties reach'd him from the hall.

Now to the 'squire, although alert and stout, Came unexpected an attack of gout;

And the grieved patron felt such serious pain,
He never thought to see a church again:
Thrice had the youthful rector taught the crowd,
Whose growing numbers spoke his powers aloud,
Before the patron could himself rejoice
(His pain still lingering) in the general voice;
For he imputed all this early fame

To graceful manner, and the well-known name;
And to himself assumed a share of praise,

For worth and talents he was pleased to raise.

A month had flown, and with it fled disease; What pleased before, began again to please; Emerging daily from his chamber's gloom, He found his old sensations hurrying home; Then call'd his nephew, and exclaim'd, "M boy,

Let us again the balm of life enjoy;

The foe has left me, and I deem it right,
Should he return, to arm me for the fight.'

Thus spoke the 'squire, the favourite nymph stood by,

And view'd the priest with insult in her eye:
She thrice had heard him when he boldly spoke
On dangerous points, and fear'd he would revoke :
For James she loved not-and her manner told
"This warm affection will be quickly cold."
And still she fear'd impress might be made
Upon a subject nervous and decay'd;
She knew her danger, and had no desire
Of reformation in the gallant 'squire ;
And felt an envious pleasure in her breast
To see the rector daunted and distress'd.

Again the uncle to the youth applied;
"Cast, my dear lad, that cursed gloom aside :
There are for all things time and place; appear
Grave in your pulpit, and be merry here:
Now take your wine;-for woes a sure resource,
And the best prelude to a long discourse."

James half obey'd, but cast an angry eye
On the fair lass, who still stood watchful by;
Resolving thus, "I have my fears; but still
I must perform my duties, and I will:
No love, no interest, shall my mind control,
Better to lose my comforts than my soul;
Better my uncle's favour to abjure,
Than the upbraidings of my heart endure."

He took his glass, and then address'd the 'squire:
"I feel not well, permit me to retire."
The 'squire conceived that the ensuing day
Gave him these terrors for the grand essay,
When he himself should this young preacher try,
And stand before him with observant eye;
This raised compassion in his manly breast,
And he would send the rector to his rest:
Yet first, in soothing voice-" A moment stay,
And these suggestions of a friend obey:
Treasure these hints, if fame or peace you prize,
The bottle emptied, I shall close my eyes.

"On every priest a twofold care attends,
To prove his talents, and ensure his friends,
First, of the first-your stores at once produce,
And bring your reading to its proper use:

On doctrines dwell, and every point enforce
By quoting much, the scholar's sure resource:
For he alone can show us on each head
What ancient schoolmen and sage fathers said:
No worth has knowledge, if you fail to show
How well you studied, and how much you know:
Is faith your subject, and you judge it right
On theme so dark to cast a ray of light?
Be it that faith the orthodox maintain,
Found in the rubric, what the creeds explain;
Fail not to show us on this ancient faith
(And quote the passage) what some martyr saith:
Dwell not one moment on a faith that shocks
The minds of men sincere and orthodox;
That gloomy faith, that robs the wounded mind
Of all the comfort it was wont to find

From virtuous acts, and to the soul denies
Its proper due for alms and charities;
That partial faith, that, weighing sins alone;
Lets not a virtue for a fault atone;
That starving faith, that would our tables clear,
And make one dreadful Lent of all the year;
And cruel too, for this is faith that rends
Confiding beauties from protecting friends;
A faith that all embracing, what a gloom
Deep and terrific o'er the land would come!
What scenes of horror would that time disclose!
No sight but misery, and no sound but woes;
Your nobler faith, in loftier style convey'd,
Shall be with praise and admiration paid:
On points like these your hearers all admire
A preacher's depth, and nothing more require;
Shall we a studious youth to college send,
That every clown his words may comprehend?
"Tis for your glory, when your hearers own
Your learning matchless, but the sense unknown.


Thus honour gain'd, learn now to gain a friend, And the sure way is-never to offend; For, James, consider-what your neighbours do Is their own business, and concerns not you: Shun all resemblance to that forward race Who preach of sins before a sinner's face; And seem as if they overlook'd a pew, Only to drag a failing man in view: Much should I feel, when groaning in disease, If a rough hand upon my limb should seize ; But great my anger, if this hand were found The very doctor's, who should make it sound: So feel our minds, young priest, so doubly feel, When hurt by those whose office is to heal.


Yet of our duties you must something tell,
And must at times on sin and frailty dwell;
Here you may preach in easy, flowing style,
How errors cloud us, and how sins defile:
Here bring persuasive tropes and figures forth,
To show the poor that wealth is nothing worth;
That they, in fact, possess an ample share
Of the world's good, and feel not half its care;
Give them this comfort, and, indeed, my gout
In its full vigour causes me some doubt;
And let it always, for your zeal, suffice,
That vice you combat, in the abstract-vice:
The very captious will be quiet then;
We all confess we are offending men:

In lashing sin, of every stroke beware,
For sinners feel, and sinners you must spare;
In general satire, every man perceives
A slight attack, yet neither fears nor grieves;

But name th' offence, and you absolve the rest, And point the dagger at a single breast.


Yet are there sinners of a class so low,
That you with safety may the lash bestow;
Poachers, and drunkards, idle rogues, who feed
At others' cost, a mark'd correction need:
And all the better sort, who see your zeal,
Will love and reverence for their pastor feel;
Reverence for one who can inflict the smart,
And love, because he deals them not a part.

Remember well what love and age advise;
A quiet rector is a parish prize,
Who in his learning has a decent pride;
Who to his people is a gentle guide;
Who only hints at failings that he sees;
Who loves his glebe, his patron, and his ease,
And finds the way to fame and profit is to please."
The nephew answer'd not, except a sigh
And look of sorrow might be term'd reply;
He saw the fearful hazard of his state,
And held with truth and safety strong debate;
Nor long he reason'd, for the zealous youth
Resolved, though timid, to profess the truth;
And though his friend should like a lion roar,
Truth would he preach, and neither less nor more.

The bells had toll'd-arrived the time of prayer, The flock assembled, and the 'squire was there: And now can poet sing, or proseman say, The disappointment of that trying day?

As he who long had train'd a favourite steed, (Whose blood and bone gave promise of his


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Sanguine with hope, he runs with partial eye
O'er every feature, and his bets are high;
Of triumph sure, he sees the rivals start,
And waits their coming with exulting heart;
Forestalling glory, with impatient glance,
And sure to see his conquering steed advance;
The conquering steed advances-luckless day!
A rival's Herod bears the prize away.

Nor second his, nor third, but lagging last,
With hanging head he comes, by all surpass'd;
Surprise and wrath the owner's mind inflame,
Love turns to scorn, and glory ends in shame ;-
Thus waited, high in hope, the partial 'squire,
Eager to hear, impatient to admire:
When the young preacher in the tones that find
A certain passage to the kindling mind,
With air and accent strange, impressive, sad,
Alarm'd the judge-he trembled for the lad;
But when the text announced the power of grace,
Amazement scowl'd upon his clouded face,
At this degenerate son of his illustrious race
Staring he stood, till hope again arose,
That James might well define the words he chose:
For this he listen'd; but, alas! he found
The preacher always on forbidden ground.

And now the uncle left the hated pew,
With James, and James's conduct in his view:
A long farewell to all his favourite schemes!
For now no crazed fanatic's frantic dreams
Seem'd vile as James's conduct, or as James:
All he had long derided, hated, fear'd,
This from the chosen youth the uncle heard ;-
The needless pause, the fierce disorder'd air,
The groan for sin, the vehemence of prayer,
Gave birth to wrath, that, in a long discourse
Of grace, triumphant rose to fourfold force:

He found his thoughts despised, his rules trans- And when the spirits of her lord were low,



And while the anger kindled in his breast, [press'd :
The pain must be endured that could not be ex-
Each new idea more inflamed his ire,
As fuel thrown upon a rising fire:

The lass presumed the wicked cause to show :
It was the wretched life his honour led,
And would draw vengeance on his guilty head;
Their loves (Heaven knew how dreadfully dis-

A hearer yet, he sought by threatening sign
To ease his heart, and awe the young divine;
But James refused those angry looks to meet,
Till he dismiss'd his flock, and left his seat:
Exhausted then he felt his trembling frame,
But fix'd his soul-his sentiments the same;
And therefore wise it seem'd to fly from rage,
And seek for shelter in his parsonage:
There, if forsaken, yet consoled to find
Some comforts left, though not a few resign'd;
There, if he lost an erring parent's love,
An honest conscience must the cause approve;
If the nice palate were no longer fed,
The mind enjoy'd delicious thoughts instead;
And if some part of earthly good was flown,
Still was the tithe of ten good farms his own.

Fear now, and discord, in the village reign,
The cool remonstrate, and the meek complain;
But there is war within, and wisdom pleads in vain:
Now dreads the uncle, and proclaims his dread,
Lest the boy-priest should turn each rustic head;
The certain converts cost him certain wo,
The doubtful fear lest they should join the foe:
Matrons of old, with whom he used to joke,
Now pass his honour with a pious look;
Lasses, who met him once with lively airs,
Now cross his way, and gravely walk to prayers:
An old companion, whom he long has loved,
By coward fears confess'd his conscience moved;
As the third bottle gave its spirit forth,

And they bore witness to departed worth,
The friend arose, and he too would depart :-
"Man," said the 'squire, "thou wert not wont to
Hast thou attended to that foolish boy, [start;
Who would abridge all comforts, or destroy?"

Yes, he had listen'd, who had slumber'd long,
And was convinced that something must be wrong:
But, though affected, still his yielding heart,
And craving palate, took the uncle's part;
Wine now oppress'd him, who, when free from On each momentous theme disgrace they bring,
And give to Scorn her poison and her sting.


Could seldom clearly utter his design;

But though by nature and indulgence weak,
Yet, half converted, he resolved to speak;
And, speaking, own'd, "that in his mind the youth
Had gifts and learning, and that truth was truth:
The 'squire he honour'd, and, for his poor part,
He hated nothing like a hollow heart:
But 'twas a maxim he had often tried,
That right was right, and there he would abide;
He honour'd learning, and he would confess
The preacher had his talents-more or less:
Why not agree? he thought the young divine
Had no such strictness-they might drink and dine;
For them sufficient-but he said before,-
That truth was truth, and he would drink no more."
This heard the 'squire with mix'd contempt and

He fear'd the priest this recreant sot would gain.
The favourite nymph, though not a convert made,
Conceived the man she scorn'd her cause would

The thought had made her!) were as yet unbless'd :
And till the church had sanction'd"-Here she saw
The wrath that forced her trembling to withdraw.

Add to these outward ills, some inward light,
That show'd him all was not correct and right:
Though now he less indulged-and to the poor,
From day to day, sent alms from door to door;
Though he some ease from easy virtues found,
Yet conscience told him he could not compound;
But must himself the darling sin deny,
Change the whole heart; but here a heavy sigh
Proclaim'd, How vast the toil! and ah! how
weak am I!"

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James too has trouble-he divided sees
A parish, once harmonious and at ease:
With him united are the simply meek,
The warm, the sad, the nervous, and the weak;
The rest his uncle's, save the few beside
Who own no doctrine, and obey no guide ;
With stragglers of each adverse camp, who lend
Their aid to both, but each in turn offend.

Though zealous still, yet he begins to feel
The heat too fierce, that glows in vulgar zeal ;
With pain he hears his simple friends relate
Their week's experience, and their woful state:
With small temptation struggling every hour,
And bravely battling with the tempting power;
His native sense is hurt by strange complaints
Of inward motions in these warring saints;
Who never cast on sinful bait a look
But they perceive the devil at the hook:
Grieved, yet compell'd to smile, he finds it hard
Against the blunders of conceit to guard;
He sighs to hear the jests his converts cause,
He cannot give their erring zeal applause;
But finds it inconsistent to condemn

The flights and follies he has nursed in them:
These, in opposing minds, contempt produce,
Or mirth occasion, or provoke abuse:



Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy,
To follow still the changes of the moon,
With fresh suspicion?

Othello, act iii. sc. 3.
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks,
And given my treasure and my rights in thee
To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy
Henry IV. Part I. act ii. sc. 3.
It is excellent
To have a giant's strength, but tyrannous
To use it as a giant.

Measure for Measure, act ii. sc. 2.

ANNA was young and lovely-in her eye
The glance of beauty, in her cheek the dye;

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