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Avarice. Colton.

THE Avarice of the Miser may be termed the grand Sepulchre of all his other Passions, as they successively decay. But, unlike other Tombs, it is enlarged by Repletion, and strengthened by Age.

Awkwardness. Churchill.

WHAT'S a fine Person, or a beauteous Face,
Unless Deportment gives them decent Grace?
Bless'd with all other requisites to please,
Some want the striking Elegance of Ease;
The curious eye their awkward movement tires;
They seem like Puppets led about by wires.

Badinage. Zimmerman.

IN the sallies of Badinage a polite fool shines; but in Gravity he is as awkward as an elephant disporting.

Bashfulness. — Fuller.

CONCEIT not so high a notion of any, as to be bashful and impotent in their presence.

Bashfulness. — Plutarch.

AS those that pull down private houses adjoining to the Temples of the Gods, prop up such parts as are contiguous to them; so, in undermining Bashfulness, due regard is to be had to adjacent Modesty, Good-nature, and Humanity.

Bashfulness. — Mackenzie.

THERE are two distinct Sorts of what we call Bashfulness: this, the awkwardness of a Booby, which a few steps into the world will convert into the pertness of a Coxcomb: that a Consciousness, which the most delicate Feelings produce, and the most extensive Knowledge cannot always remove.

Beauty. - Shakspeare.

FOR her own Person,

It beggar'd all Description; she did lie
In her pavilion,

O'erpicturing that Venus, where we see,
The Fancy out-work Nature.

Beauty. — Byron.

AN Eye's an Eye, and whether black or blue,
Is no great matter, so 'tis in request;

'Tis Nonsense to dispute about a Hue—

The kindest may be taken as a Test.

The fair Sex should be always fair; and no Man,
Till thirty, should perceive there's a plain Woman.

Beauty. -- Sir A. Hunt.

WHAT is Beauty? Not the Show
Of shapely Limbs and Features. No.
These are but flowers

That have their dated hours

To breathe their momentary Sweets, then go.
'Tis the stainless Soul within

That outshines the fairest Skin.

Beauty.

Rogers.

BUT then her Face,

So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent Heart.

Beauty. Byron.

WHO hath not proved how feebly Words essay
To fix one spark of Beauty's heaven. y ray?
Who doth not feel, until his failing sight
Faints into dimness with its own delight,
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess
The Might-the Majesty of Loveliness?
Beauty. Spenser.

LONG while I sought to what I might compare
Those powerful Eyes, which lighten my dark Spirit;
Yet found I nought on Earth, to which I dare
Resemble the Image of their goodly light.
Not to the Sun, for they do shine by Night;
Nor to the Moon, for they are changed never;
Nor to the Stars, for they have purer Sight;
Nor to the Fire, for they consume not ever;
Nor to the Lightning, for they still presever;
Nor to the Diamond, for they are more tender;
Nor unto Chrystal, for nought may them sever;
Nor unto Glass, such Baseness mought offend her;
Then to the Maker's Self they likest be;
Whose light doth lighten all that here we see.

Beauty. Byron.

SHE gazed upon a World she scarcely knew
As seeking not to know it; silent, lone,
As grows a Flower, thus quietly she grew,

And kept her Heart serene within its Zone.
There was Awe in the Homage which she drew;
Her Spirit seem'd as seated on a throne
Apart from the surrounding World, and strong
In its own strength-most strange in one so young!

Beauty. - Milton.

BEAUTY, like the fair Hesperian Tree
Laden with blooming Gold, had need the guard
Of Dragon-watch with unenchanted eye,
To save her Blossoms and defend her Fruit
From the rash hand of bold Incontinence.

Beauty. Spenser.

FOR shee was full of amiable Grace,
And manly Terror mixed therewithal;
That as the one stirr'd up Affections base,
So th'other did Men's rash Desires apall,

And hold them backe, that would in error fall:

As he that hath espide a vermeill Rose,

To which sharpe Thornes, and Breeres the way forstall, Dare not for Dread his hardy Hand expose,

But wishing it farr off his ydle Wish doth lose.

Beauty. - Shakspeare.

How like Eve's Apple doth thy Beauty grow,
If thy sweet Virtue answer not thy Show!
Beauty. Shakspeare.

COULD Beauty have better commerce than with Honesty?
Beauty.- Spenser.

HER Looks were like beams of the morning Sun,
Forth-looking through the window of the East,

When first the fleecie Cattle have begun

Upon their perled grass to make their feast.

Beauty. Rochester.

OH! she is the Pride and Glory of the World:
Without her, all the rest is worthless dross:

Life, a base slavery; Empire but a mock;
And Love, the Soul of all, a bitter curse.

Beauty. — Byron.

HER glossy Hair was cluster'd o'er a Brow

Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth;
Her Eyebrow's Shape was like the aërial Bows,
Her Cheek all purple with the beam of Youth,
Mounting at times to a transparent glow,
As if her Veins ran lightning.

Beauty. - Lee.

Is she not brighter than a Summer's Morn,

When all the Heaven is streak'd with dappled Fires, And fleck'd with Blushes like a rifled Maid?

Beauty. Shakspeare.

ALL Orators are dumb, when Beauty pleadeth.
Beauty. Shakspeare.

THE Roman Dame,

Within whose face Beauty and Virtue strived
Which of them both should underprop her Fame:
When Virtue bragg'd Beauty would blush for Shame;
When Beauty boasted Blushes, in despite
Virtue would stain that o'er with Silver White.

But Beauty, in that White intituled,

From Venus' Doves doth challenge that fair field;
Then Virtue claims from Beauty Beauty's Red,
Which Virtue gave the Golden Age to gild

Their Silver Cheeks, and call'd it then their shield;
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,-

When Shame assail'd, the Red should fence the White.
Beauty. - Milton.

BEAUTY is Nature's Coin, must not be hoarded,
But must be current, and the Good thereof
Consists in mutual and partaken Bliss,
Unsavoury in th' enjoyment of itself:
If you let slip Time, like a neglected rose,
It withers on the stalk with languish'd head.

Beauty. — Byron.

ER Glance how wildly beautiful! how much

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Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her Cheek,

Which glows yet smoother from his amorous clutch!

Who round the North for paler dames would seek?

How poor their forms appear! how languid, wan, and weak ! Beauty. - Spenser.

YE tradeful Merchants! that with weary toil

Do seek most precious things to make your gain;

And both the Indias of their treasure spoil,

What needeth you to seek so far in vain?

For lo! my Love doth in herself contain

All this World's Riches that may far be found;

If Saphyrs, lo! her Eyes be Saphyrs plain;

If Rubies, lo! her Lips be Rubies sound;

If Pearls, her Teeth be Pearls, both pure and round;

If Ivory, her Forehead Ivory ween;

If Gold, her locks are finest Gold on Ground;
If Silver, her fair Hands are Silver Sheen :
But that which fairest is, but few behold,
Her mind, adorn'd with Vertues manifold.

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THE Fairness of her Face no tongue can tell, For she the Daughters of all Women's Race, And Angels eke, in Beautie doth excell, Sparkled on her from God's owne glorious Face, And more increast by her owne goodly Grace, That it doth farre exceed all human Thought, Ne can on Earth compared be to ought.

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Beauty. Shakspeare.

BEAUTY lives with Kindness.

Beauty. Crabbe.

LO! when the Buds expand the Leaves are green,
Then the first opening of the Flower is seen;
Then come the honied breath and rosy smile,
That with their sweets the willing sense beguile;
But as we look, and love, and taste, and praise,
And the Fruit grows, the charming Flower decays;
Till all is gather'd, and the wintry blast
Moans o'er the place of love and pleasure past.
So 'tis with Beauty,-such the opening grace
And dawn of glory in the youthful face;
Then are the charms unfolded to the sight,
Then all is loveliness and all delight;
The nuptial tie succeeds, the genial hour,
And, lo! the falling off of Beauty's flower;
So through all Nature is the progress made,-
The Bud, the Bloom, the Fruit, and then we fade.
Beauty. Spenser.

FOR Beauty is the bait which with delight
Doth Man allure, for to enlarge his kind;
Beauty, the burning lamp of Heaven's light,
Darting her beams into each feeble Mind,
Against whose power nor God nor Man can find
Defence, reward the daunger of the wound;
But being hurt, seek to be medicin'd

Of her that first did stir that mortal stownd.

Beauty. — Byron.

HEART on her Lips, and Soul within her Eyes.
Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.

Beauty. - Shakspeare.

THAT whiter skin of her's than snow, And smooth as monumental alabaster.

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