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Hope brightens the countenance, arches the eye-browe, gives the eyes an eager wishful look, opens the mouth to half a smile, bends the body a little forward.

Love lights up a smile upon the countenance; the forehead is smoothed, the eye-brows arched, the mouth a little open and smiling, the eyes languishing, the countenance assumes an eager wishful look, mixed with an air of satisfaction. The accents are soft and winning, the tone of the voice flattering.

Wonder opens the eyes, and makes them appear prominent; the body is fixed in a contracted stooping posture, the mouth is open, the hands often raised. Wonder at first strikes a person dumb, then breaks forth into exclamations.

Curiosity opens the eyes and mouth, lengthens the neck, bends the body forward, and fixes it in one posture, &c.

Anger is expressed by rapidity, interruption, noise and trepidation, the neck is stretched out, the head nodding in a threatening manner. The eyes red, staring, rolling, sparkling; the eye-brows drawn down over them, the forehead wrinkled, the nostrils stretched, every vein swelled, every muscle strained. When anger is violent, the mouth is opened and drawn towards the ears, shewing the teeth in a gnashing posture; the feet stamping, the right hand thrown out, threatening with a clenched fist, and the whole frame agitated..

Peevishness is expressed in nearly the same manner, but with more moderation, the eyes a squint upon the object of displeasure; the upper lip drawn up disdainfully.

Malice sets the jaws, or gnashes with the teeth; sends flashes from the eyes, draws the mouth towards the ears, clenches the fist, and bends the elbows.

Envy is expressed in the same manner, but more moderately. Aversion turns the face from the object; the hands spread out to keep it off.

Jealousy shews itself by restlessness, peevishness, thoughtfulness, anxiety, absence of mind. It is a mixture of a variety of passions, and assumes a variety of appearances.

Contempt assumes a haughty air; the lips closed and pouting. Modesty or humility bends the body forward, casts down the eyes. The voice is low, the words few, and tone of utterance submissive.



One day when the moon was under an eclipse, she complained thus to the sun of the discontinuance of his favora

My dearest friend, said she, why do you not shine upon me as you used to do? Do I not shine upon thee? said the sun; I am very sure that I intend it. O no! replies the moon; but I now perceive the reason. I see that dirty planet the earth has got between us. Dodsley's Fables.

Life is short and uncertain; we have not a moment to lose. Is it prudent to throw away any of our time in tormenting ourselves or others, when we have little for honest pleasures? Forgetting our weakness, we stir up mighty enmities, and fly to wound as if we were invulnerable. Wherefore all this bustle and noise The best use of a short life is to make it agreeable to ourselves and to others. Have you cause of quarrel with your servant, your master, your king, your neighbor? forbear a moment: death is at hand, which makes all equal.

What has a man to do with wars, tumults, ambushes? You would destroy your enemy? You lose your trouble; death will do your business whilst you are at rest. And after all, when you have got your revenge, how short will be your joy or his pain! While we are among men let us cultivate humanity; let us not be the cause of fear or pain to one another.-Let us despise injury, malice and detraction; and bear with an equal mind such transitory evils. While we speak, while we think, death comes up and closes the scene. Art of Thinking.


Then let us haste towards those piles of wonder
That scorn to bow beneath the weight of years--
Lo! to my view the awful mansions rise,
The pride of art, the sleeping place of death!



Let this auspicious day be ever sacred;
No mourning, no misfortunes happen on it;
Let it be mark'd for triumph and rejoicing;
Let happy lovers ever make it holy,

Choose it to bless their hopes and crown their wishes:
This happy day that givesme my Calista.

Then is Orestes blest! My griefs are fled!
Fled like a dream! Methinks I tread in air!
Surprising happiness! unlook'd for joy!
Never let love despair! The prize is mine!
Be smooth, ye seas, and ye propitious winds,
Blow from Epirus to the Spartan coast!

Fair Penitent.

Distrest Mother.


All dark, and comfortless!

Where are those various objects that but now,
Employ'd my busy eye? Where those eyes?
Dead are their piercing rays, that lately shot
O'er flow'ry vales to distant sunny hills,
And drew with joy the vast horizon in.
These grouping hands are now my only guides,
And feeling all my sight.

O misery! What words can sound my grief?
Shut from the living whilst among the living;
Dark as the grave amidst the bustling world,
No more to view the beauty of the spring,
Or see the face of kindred or of friend.


Trag. of Lear.

A generous few, the vet'ran hardy gleanings Of many a hapless fight, with a fierce Heroic fire inspir'd each other; Resolv'd on death, disdaining to survive Their dearest country :-" If we fall," Lcry'd, "Let us not tamely fall like passive cowards! No-let us live, or let us die like men! Come on my friends. To Alfred we will cut Our glorious way; or, as we nobly perish, Will offer to the genius of our country Whole hecatombs of Danes."-As if one soul Had mov'd them all, around their heads they flash'd Their flaming falchions:-" Lead us to those Danes; Our country! vengeance!" was the general cry. Mas. of Alft.


How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here? I think it is the weakness of mine eyes,

That shapes this monstrous apparition?
It comes upon me- -Art thou any thing?
Art thou some God, some angel, or some devil?
That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stand?
Speak to me, what art thou?


Who can behold such beauty, and be siler.t? Oh! I could talk of thee forever;\

Forever fix and gaze on those dear eyes;
For every glance they send darts thro' my soul.


Hear me, rash man; on thy allegiance hear me.
Since thou hast striven to make us break our vow,
(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear)
We banish thee forever from our sight
And kingdom. If, when three days are expired,
Thy hated trunk be found in our dominions,
That moment is thy death.-Away!
By Jupiter this shall not be revok'd.


Away!-no woman could descend so low,
A skipping, dancing, worthless tribe you are,
Fit only for yourselves, you herd together;
And when the circling glass warms your vain hearts,
You talk of beauties that you never saw,
And fancy raptures which you never knew.


As in a theatre, the eyes of men,

After a well grac'd actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious;

Trag. of Lear.


Fair Penitent.

Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did scowl on Richard. No man cry'd, God save him!
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;
Which with such gentle sorrow, he shook off,
(His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience,)
That had not God for some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must have melted,
And barbarism itself have pity'd him.


Richard II.

How like a fawning publican he looks
I hate him for he is a Christian:
But more for that in low simplicity,
He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice:
If I can catch him once upon the hip

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
He hates our sacred nation; and he rails,
E'en there where merchants most do congregate,

On me, my bargains, and my well won thrift,
Which he calls usury. Cursed be my tribe
If I forgive him.

Merch, of Venice.


Ask for what end the heavenly bodies shine,
Earth for whose use-Pride answers, ""Tis for mine.
For me kind nature wakes her genial pow'r,
Suckles each herb, and spreads out every flower;
Annual, for me, the grape, the rose renew
The juice nectaricus and the balmy dew;
For me, the mine a thousand treasures brings;
For me, health gushes from a thousand springs;
Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise;
My footstool earth, my canopy the skies."

Essay on Man.


I know not how to thank you. Rude I am,
In speech and manners; never till this hour
Stood I in such a presence; yet, my Lord,
There's something in my breast which makes me bold
To say, that Norval ne'er will shame thy favor.


There is a stupid weight upon my senses,
A dismal sullen stillness, that succeeds
The storm of rage and grief, like silent death
After the tumult and the noise of life.


Love was the informing active fire within;

Now that is quench'd, the mass forgets to move,

And longs to mingle with its kindred earth. Fair Penitent.



Lope! sweet flatterer, whose delusive touch Sheden afflicted minds the balm of comfort,

-Silence, ye winds

That make outrageous war upon the ocean;
And thou old ocean still thy boisterous waves;
Ye warring elements be hush'd as death,
While I impose my dread commands on hell.
Nou profoundest hell whose dreadful sway
As given to me by fate and demogorgon-
Hear, ear my powerful voice through all thy regions:
And, from thy gloomy caverns-thunder thy reply.

Rinaldo and Armida.

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