In some, ambition is the chief concern; J. T. Watson. I saw a falling leaf soon strew But never reach the quiet earth. Such is ambition's foiled endeavour; The falling leaf is soon at rest, While stars that fall, fall on for ever.-Anon. AMEND-AMENDS. AT his touch, (Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand.) They presently amend. Shakspere. When I a prisoner chained, scarce freely drew "Amend your ways, your life amend!" Milton. They'll make amends for stinted measure, Egone. AMIABLE-AMICABLE. O GRACE serene! O Virtue heavenly fair, Fresh blooming Hope, gay daughter of the sky! They see Pope. Through the dun mist, in blooming beauty fresh, I found my subjects amicable join Philips. Prior. AMISS. FOR that which thou hast sworn to do amiss, Shakspere. To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, Shakspere. Oye powers that search The heart of man, and weigh his inmost thoughts! If I have done amiss, impute it not. Your kindred is not much amiss, 'tis true, Addison. Dryden. She sighed withal, they construed all amiss, In vain we seek below for bliss, Egone. 38 888 AMUSE. ANAGRAM. ANARCH. AMUSE-AMUSEMENT. AND sure there seem of human kind Grace its lone vales with many a budding rose,. Call forth refreshing shades and decorate repose. If but amusement were the end of life, ANAGRAM. Shenstone. Egone. THOUGH all her parts be not in the usual place, Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame Donne. Dryden. But with still more disordered march advance, Shifting in double mazes o'er the plain.-Scribleriad. Despotic sway, and old tyrannic rule, In body politics an atrophy, Or else wide-wasting social anarchy. Egone. ANATOMY. OH, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Which cannot hear a feeble lady's voice. Shakspere. They brought one Pinch, a hungry, lean-faced villain, A mere anatomy, a mountebank, A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller, A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch, Hence, when anatomists discourse, And that, for anything in nature, Shakspere. Pigs might squeak love odes, dogs bark satire. Pope. ANCESTRY. BOAST not these titles of your ancestors, Brave youths; they 're their possessions, not your own: I have no urns, no dusty monuments; Ben Jonson. Wanting an ear or nose; no forged tables Ben Jonson. Obscure! why prithee what am I? I knew I can but guess beyond the fourth degree, Dryden. It is, indeeed, a blessing, when the virtues And do derive themselves from th' imitation They that on glorious ancestors enlarge, Nabb. Young. "Your ancient house?" No more: I cannot see The wondrous merits of a pedigree: -Nor of a proud display Of smoky ancestors in wax and clay. ANGELS-ANGELIC. Gifford. How oft do they their silver bowers leave, And their bright squadrons round about us plant; And all for love, and nothing for reward: Oh! why should heavenly love to man have such regard? Thou hast the sweetest face I ever looked on; Angels, contented with their fame in heaven, My fancy formed thee of angelic kind, Milton. Pope. Are ye for ever to your skies departed? |