And when the cannon-mouthings loud,

Heave in wide wreaths the battle shroud,
And gory sabres rise and fall,

Like sheets of flame in midnight pall.

Oh, the bellowing thunders!
The shudders, the shocks!

J. R. Drake.

When thousands 'gainst thousands,
Come clashing like rocks!
When the rain is all scarlet,
The clouds are half fire;
And men's sinews are snapped
Like the threads of a lyre!
When each litter's a hearse,
And each bullet a knell;
When each breath is a curse,

And each bosom a hell!

Procter.

BEAR.

THEY wish to live,

Their pains and poverty desire to bear,

To view the light of heaven, and breathe the common

air.

Cease thy care;

Dryden.

Wise is the soul; but man is born to bear:
Jove weighs affairs of earth in dubious scales,
And the good suffers while the bad prevails.-Pope.

Where vice prevails, and impious men bear sway, The post of honour is a private station.

Some power invisible supports his soul,
And bears it up in all its wonted greatness.

If this great world of joy and pain
Revolve in one sure track,

If freedom set will rise again,
And virtue flown, come back;

Addison.

Woe to the purblind crew who fill
The heart with each day's care,
Nor gain from past and future still
To bear and to forbear.

Wordsworth.

Man's best philosophy-life's purest creed-
Christian as Epictetic, is:-to bear

Our yoke unmurmuring; balance that we need
With that which we desire; to bound our prayer
To heaven's good pleasure; make the word and deed
Our heart's true mirror; in our breast to wear
Bravely our badge; and if at last we leave

Some trait worth name, what more could man achieve?
Dr. W. Beattie.

BEARD.

No man so potent breathes upon the ground,

But I will beard him.

Shakspere.

Shakspere.

Think every bearded fellow that's but yoked
May draw with you.

As when a field

Of Ceres, ripe for harvest, waving bends

Her bearded grove of ears, which way the wind
Sways them.

Milton.

Old prophecies foretell our fall at hand,
When bearded men in floating castles land.

Dryden.

Some thin remains of chastity appeared,
Even under Jove, but Jove without a beard.

Dryden.

Ere on thy chin the springing beard began
To spread a doubtful down, and promise man.

It has no bush below;

Marry a little wool, as much as an unripe
Peach doth wear:

Prior.

Just enough to speak him drawing towards a man.

Suckling.

His tawny beard was th' equal grace
Both of his wisdom and his face;
In cut and die so like a tile,
A sudden view it would beguile;
The upper part thereof was whey;
The nether, orange mix'd with grey.

Butler.

His beard is directly brick-colour,
And perfectly fashioned like the husk
Of a chesnut; he kisses with the driest lip!

Marston.

BEAUTY.

NOUGHT under heaven so strongly doth allure
The sense of man, and all his mind possess,
As beauty's lovely bait, that doth procure
Great warriors oft their rigour to repress;
And mighty hands forget their manliness,
Drawn with the power of an heart-robbing eye,
And wrapt in fetters of a golden tress,
That can with melting pleasaunce mollify
Their harden'd hearts, enur'd to blood and cruelty.
Spenser.

For sure of all that in this mortal frame
Contained is, nought more divine doth seem,
Or that resembleth more th' immortal flame
Of heavenly light, than beauty's glorious beam.
What wonder then if with such rage extreme
Frail men, whose eyes seek heavenly things to see,
At sight thereof so much enravish'd be. 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 danger of the wound;
But, being hurt, seek to be medicined

Of her that first did stir that mortal stownd.

Spenser.

Nought is there under heaven's wide hollowness
That moves more dear compassion of mind,
Than beauty, brought t' unworthy wretchedness,
Through envy's snares, or fortune's freaks unkind:
I, whether lately through her brightness blind,
Or through allegiance and vast fealty,
Which I do owe unto all womankind,
Feel my heart pierced with so great agony,
When such I see, that all for pity I could die.
Spenser.

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 own glorious face,
And more increast by her own goodly grace,
That it doth far exceed all human thought,
Ne can on earth compared be to aught.

Spenser.

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,
A shining gloss, that fadeth suddenly;
A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud;
A brittle glass, that's broken presently;
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie withered on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,
So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.

Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

Beauty is a witch,

Shakspere.

Shakespere.

Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.

Shakspere.

'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.

Shakspere.

All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth.

Shakspere. My beauty, though but mean, Needs not the painted flourish of your praise: Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues. Shakspere. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear: Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. Shakspere.

The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven,
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would sing, and think it were not night.
Shakspere.

Beauty, sweet love is like the morning dew,
Whose short refresh upon the tender green,
Cheers for a time but till the sun doth shew,
And straight 't is gone as it had never been.
Soon doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish.
Short is the glory of the blushing rose:
The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish,

Yet which at length thou must be forced to lose.

What greater torment ever could have been,
Than to enforce the fair to live retir'd?
For what is beauty if it be not seen?
Or what is 't to be seen-if not admir'd?
And though admir'd, unless in love desir'd?
Never were cheeks of roses, locks of amber,
Ordain'd to live imprison'd in a chamber.
Nature created beauty for the view,
(Like as the fire for heat, the sun for light:)
The fair do hold this privilege as due,
By ancient charter, to live most in sight,
And she that is debarr'd it, hath not right.
In vain our friends from this do us dehort,
For beauty will be where is most resort.

Daniel.

Daniel.