John F. Addington Sarah Josepha Buell Hale.

A complete dictionary of poetical quotations: comprising the most excellent ... online

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Shall be more sweet than all the joys

Amongst us mortal men.

Then shalt thou find but one refuge

AVhich comfort can retain:

A guiltless conscience pure and clear

From touch of sinfiil stain.

Brandon* 8 Octama to AnUmuu,
Consider all thy actions, and take hoed
On stolen bread, tho' it is sweet, to feed
Sin, like a bte, unto thy hive may bring
A little honey, but expect the sting.
Thou may*st conceal thy sin by cunning art.
But conscience sits a witness in thy heart ;
Which will disturb thy peace, thy rest undo.
For that is witness, judge, and prison too.

Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
DevisM at first to keep the strong in awe.

Shak$. Richard III
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues.
And every tongue brings in a several talc.
And every tale condemns me for a villain.

Shak$. Richard III,
Oh — I have passM a miserable night.
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights.
That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night.
Though 't were to buy a world of happy days :
So full of dismal terror was the time.

Shaks, Richard III.
O, Brackenbury, I have done these things.
That now give evidence against my soul.

Shahs, Richard III,
It is a dangerous
Thing, it makes a man a coward : a man
Cannot steal but it accoseth him ; a man
Cannot swear, but it checlis him.
*Tis a blushing shame-facM spirit, that
Mutinies in a man*s bosom ; it fills
One full of obstacles. It made me once
Restore a purse of gold, that by chanc9 I
round. It beggars any man that keeps it
It is tumM out of towns and cities for
A dang*rou8 thing ; and every man that means
Tu hve well, endeavours to trust to himsclf|

And live without it.

SluiTcM, Richard III.

Give me another horso, — Lmd u^ wf isoimdis
Have mercy, Jesu ! — sofl; — I did but dreani.—
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict mo !—
The lights bum blue. — It is now dead midnighf
Cold fearful drops stand on my fearful ficsli.
What do I fear 7 myself 7

ShdcM. Richard III

Suspicion haunts the guilty mind ;
The thief doth fear each bush an olBcer.

Shaks, Henry VL Part III
What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted
Thrice is he armM, that hath his quarrel just;
And he but naked, though lockM up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

Shaht. Henry VL Part 11
Their great guilt.
Like poison given to work a great time afler.

Now *gins to bite the spirits.

Shaks, TempegL

O, it is monstrous ! — monstrous !
Methought, the billows spoke and told me of it ;
The winds did sing it to me, and the tliunder,
That deep and dreadful organ-pii)e, pronouncM

Tlic name of Prosper.

Sluiks. TetnpcaL

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ,
And tlius the native hue of resolution
Is sicklyM o*cr with the pale cast of thought ;
And enterprises of great pith and moment.
With this regard, tlicir currents turn away.
And lose the name of action.

Shaki, Hamlet,

Leave her to heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge.
To prick and sting her.

Shaks, Hamlet

O, Hamlet, spook no more :
Thou tum'st mine eyes into my very soul ;
And there I see such black and grained spots,

As will not leave their tinct.

Shaks. HamUt

Foul whisp*rings are abroad ; and unnatVol deeds
Do breed unnat'ral troubles : infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets

Shaks, MacbeiL
Better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gain our place, liave sent to peaoc.
Than on the torture of the mind to lie

In restless ccstacy.

Shak$, Macbeth

The colour of the king dotli come and go
Between his purpose and his conscience.
Like heralds *twixt two dreadful battles set
His passion is so ripe, it needs munt break.

Sh/iks, King Johh

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I feel within me
4 peace above all earthly dignities,
A fltill and quiet conscience.

Shak*. Henry VI 11.

He that has light within his own dear breast,
May sit i' th' centre, and enjoy bright day :
But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts.
Benighted walks under tlio mid-day sun ;
Himself is his own dungeon.

MilUnCi Comui.

But his doom
Reserv'd him to more wrath ; for now the thought,
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain,
Torments him

MHUnCs Paradise LotL

Now conscience wakes despair
That slumbered, wakes the bitter memory
Of what ho was, what is, and what must be
WOTse; if worse deeds, worse sufferings must
ensue. MiJUmCe Paradiee Lost,

conscience, into what abyss of fears

And horrors host thou driven me ; out of which

1 find no way, from deep to deeper plung'd.

MiUon'9 ParadiH LosL
Why should not conscience have vacation
As well as other courts o* th* nation ;
Have equal power to adjourn.
Appoint appearance and return.

Butler*8 Hudibras*

What's tender conscience ? *Tis a botch,
Hiat will not bear the gentlest touch ;
But breaking out despatches more
Than the epidcmical'st plague-sore.

Buiier's Uudibras.

Here, here it lies ; a lump of lead by day ;
And in my short, distracted, nightly slumbers.
The hag that rides my dreams.


•Tis ever thus
With noble minds, if chance they slide to folly ;
Remorse stings deeper, and relentless conscience.
Poors more of gall into the bitter cup
Of their severe repentance.

Mascn's Elfrida,

Some scruple rose, but thus he easM his thought,
1 11 now give sixpence where I gave a groat ;
Where once I went to church I *11 now go twice.
And am so clear too of all other vice.

Papers Moral Essays,

See, firom behind her secret stand,
llie sly informer minutes ev*ry fault.
And •ler dread diary with horror fills.

Young's Night Thoughts,

Conscience, what art thou? thou tremendous

Who dost inhabit us without our leave ;
And art within ourselves, another scl^
A master-self, that loves to domineer,
And treat the monarch frankly as the slave
How dost thou Ught a torch to distant deeds '
Make the past, present, and the future frown 7
How, ever and anon, awake tlie soul,
As with a peal of thunder, to strange horrors,
In this long restless dream, which idiots Img —
Nay, wise men flatter with tlie name of liiO.

Young^s Droilim

Conscience, and nice scruples
Are taxes tliat abound in none but meagre soils,
To choke the aspiring seeds of manly daring :
Those puny instincts, which in feeble minds,
Unfit for great exploits, are miscaird virtue.

Jephson^s Braganxa,

Knowledge or wealth to few are given.
But mark how just the ways of licavcn ;
True joy to all is free.
Nor wealth nor knowledge grant tlie boon,
*Tis thine, O conscience, tliine alone.
It all belongs to thee.


Thus oft it haps, that when within,
They shrink at sense of secret sin,
A feather daunts the brave;
A fooPs wild speech confounds the wise,
And proudest princes veil their eyes.
Before their meanest slave.

ScoWs Mantiion

Oh ! conscience ! conscience ! man's most faithfuJ

Him canst thou comfort, ease, relieve, defend :
But if he will thy friendly checks forego,
Thou art, oh ! woe for me, his deadliest Ibc I


There is no future pang
Can deal that justice on tlie self-condcmn'd
He deals on his own soul.

Byron's Mavfreu.

Though thy slumber may be deep.
Yet thy spirit shall not sleep.
There are shades which will not vanish.
There ore thoughts thou canst not banish

Byron's ManJvLu,

Yet still there whispers the small voice within.
Heard through God's silence, and o*cr glory's diu
Whatever creed be taught or land be trod,
Man's conscience is the oracle of God !

Byron^s hl*%a

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Though I know not
That I do wrong, I feel a thousand fears
Which are not ominous of right

Byrori'B Heaven and Earth, Part I.
But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws
So much as when we call our old debts in
At sixty years, and draw the account^ of evil,
And find a deuced balance with the deviL


A quiet conscience makes one so serene !
Christians have burnt each other qu te persuaded
That all the apostles would have doi.e as they did.


The mind, that broods o'er guilty woes,
Is like the scorpion girt by fire,
In circle narrowing as it glows.
The flames around their captive close.
Till inly searched by thousand throes,
And T^iaddening in her ire,
One and sole relief she knows.
The sting she nourishM for her foes,
AVhose venom never yet was vain.
Gives but one pang, and cures all pain,
And darts into her desperate brain.
So do the dark in soul expire,
Or live like scorpion girt by fire;
So writhes the mind remorse hath riven,
Unfit for earth, undoomM for heaven,
Darkness above, despair beneath.

Around it flame, within it death !

Byron^B Oiaour,

There is no power in holy men.

Nor charms in prayer — nor purifying form

Of penitence — nor outward look— nor last —

Nor agony — nor, greater than all these,

The innate tortures of that deep despair.

Which is remorse without the fear of hell.

But all in all sufiicient to itself^

Would make a hell of heaven — can exercise.

From out the imbounded spirit, the quick sense

Of its own sins, wrongs, sufierancc, and revenge

Upon itscl£

ByrotCs Manfred.

Not all the glory, all the praise,

That decks the hero's prosperous days.

The shout of men, the laurel crown.

The pealing anthems of renown,

May conscience' dreadful sentence drown.

Afr*. Hdford,
Who bom so poor.
Of intellect so mean, as not to know
What secm'd the best ; and knowing not to do 7
As not to know what Grod and conscience bade.
And wnat they bade not able to obey ?

PoUock'a Course of JHme.

With peace of conscience, like to imvtccnt men.


Trust me, no tortures which the poets feign
Can match the fierce, unutterable pain
He feels, who night and day devoid of rest.
Carries his own accuser in his breast

Gifford's Juvenal
He cannot look on her mild eye ;

Her patient words his spirit quell.
Within that evil heart there lie

The hates and fears of hell.
His speech is short; he wears a surly brow —
There 's none will hoar her shriek ; what fear ye

The workings of the soul ye fear !

Dana's Buceaneet,

Dear mother! in ourselves is hid

The holy spirit-land.
Where Thought^ the flaming cherub, stands

With its relentless brand;
We feel the pang, when that dread sword

Inscribes the hidden sin.

And tumeth everywhere to guard

The paradise within!

Mr$, E, 0ake9 Smtth

He fears not dying — 'tis a deeper fear, —
The thunder-peal cries to his conscience — ^' Hear 1"
The rushing winds fi^m memory lift the veil,
And in each flash his sins, like spectres pale.
Freed, firom their dark abode, his guilty breast.
Shriek in his startled ear—" Death is not rest !"

Mr$. Hale


O conspiracy!
Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night.
When evils are most free ? O, then by day.
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough
To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none,

Hide it in smiles and affability :
For if thou put thy native semblance on,
Not Erebus itself were dim enough,
To hide thee from prevention.

Shahs, Julius Ccesar.

Between the acting of a dreadful thing.
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream ;
The genius and the mortal instruments
Are then in council; and tlic state of a man.
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection.

Shaiks, Julius Casar

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To be head
We *I] cut off anj member, and condemn
Virtue or folly for a diadem,
Banish religion, and make blood as cheap,
As when two armies, tumM into one heap
Of carcasses, lye gproT'ling : what care wo
For the slight taintra^ of disloyalty ?
None will commend the race till it be nm.
And these are deeds, not praisM till they are done.
Robert GomenaU.

Provide what money, and what arms you can ;
Who has the gold, shall never want the man.

BarQrC9 Merxa.

"Mj plots &11 short, like darts, which rash hands

With an ill aim, and have too far to go ;
Nor can I long discoveries prevent,
I deal too much among the innocent.

Sir Robert Howard's Vutal Virgin.

Oh ! think what anxious moments pass between
The birth of plots, and their kst fotal periods ;
Oh ! *t is a dreadful interval of time,
Fil]*d up with horror, and big with death.

Addidon^i Caio,

Conspiracies no sooner should be fbnn*d
Than executed.

Addi$on^$ Cato.

Like thunder-clouds, should in a moment form
And strike, like lightning, ere the sound is heard.

Dowe's SeUuma,


Consideration like an angel came.

And whippM the offending Adam out of him

Leaving his body as a paradise.

To envelope and contain celestial spirits.

Shah$, Henry F.

Hang consideration !
When this is spent, is not our ship the same.
Our courage too the same, to fetch in more 7
The earth, where it is fertilest, returns not
More than three harvests, while the glorious sun
Poets through the zodiac, and makes up the year.
But the sea, which is our mother (that embraces
Both the rich Indies in her outstretchM arms,)
Yields every day a crop if we dare reap it
No, no, my mates, let tradesmen think of thrifl,
And Qsorers hoard up ; let our expense
Be as our comings in are, without bounds.



I am constant as the northern star ;
Of whose true, fixM and resting quality
There is no follow in the firmamenL

Shaks. Julius C<tsar
Sooner 1*11 think the sun would cease to cheer
The teeming earth, and then forget to bear ;
Sooner that rivers would run back, or Thames
With ribs of ice in June would bind his streams:
Or nature, by whose strength the world endures.
Would change her coiu'se before you alter yours.

It is a noble constancy you show
To this afflicted house : that not like others.
The friends of season, you do foUow fortune,
And in the winter of their fate, fi>rsake
The place, whose glories warm*d you.

Jonson^s Sejanus,
first shall the heav*n*s bright lamp forget to shlnci
The stars shaD from the azur*d sky decline ;
First shall the orient with the west shake hand.
The centre of the world shall cease to stand :
First wolves shall league with lambs, the dolphins


The lawyer and physician fees deny :
The Thames with Tagus shall exchange her bed,
My mistress* locks with mine shall first turn red :
First heav*n shall lie below, and hell above.
Ere I inconstant to my Delia prove.

When all things have their trial, you shall find
Nothing is constant but a virtuous mind.

Shirley^s WiUy Fair Ous
Make my breast
Transparent as pure crystal, that the world
Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought
My heart does hold. Where shall a woman lum
Her eyes to find out constancy.


No never from this hour to part.
We *11 live and love so true.
The sigh that rends thy constant heart.
Shall break thy £Idwin*s too.

Goldsmith's HermtL
Yes, let the eagle change his plume.
The leaf its hue, the flower its bloom,
But ties around that heart were spun,
Which would not, could not be undone.

The mountain rill
Seeks with no surer flow the fir, bright sea.
Than my unchangM affections flow to thee.

Park Beiyamtn

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The love that is kept in the beauty of trost,
Cannot pass like the foam from the seas,
Or a mark that the finger hath tracM in the dust,
^Vhore *t is swept by the breath of the breeze.

Mr$, Wdby.
There is nothing but death
Our affections con sever,
And tin lifers latest breath
Love shall bind us for ever.


1 have won

Thy heart, my gentle girl ! but it hath been
When that soil eye was on me ; and the love
I told beneath the evening influence,
Shall be as eonstarU as its gentle star.


Though youth be past, and beauty fled.
The constant heart its pledge redeems,
Like.&ox, that guards the floworiess bed
And brighter from the contrast seems.




As in a theatre, the eyes of men.

After a well-graced actor leaves the stage.

Arc idly bent on him that enters next,

Thinking his prattle to be tedious :

Even so, or with much more contempt, men*s eyes

Did scowl on Richard.

SIuAm. Richard IL
Hold, Clifibrd ; do not honour him so much.
To prick tliy finger, though to wound his heart ;
What valiAir were it when a cur doth grin.
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When ho might spurn him with his foot away 7

Shaks, Henry VL Part IIL
T is true, I am hard buflcted.

Though few can be my foes.
Harsh words fall heavy on my head.

And unresisted blows.

R, M. AfiZnes.

7, to herd with narrow foreheads,
Vacant of our glorious gains,

Like a beast with lower pleasures.
Like a beast with lower pains !

Shall it not be scorn to me
To harp on such a moulderM string ?
I am shamM through all my nature
To have lovM so slight a thing.




There is a jewel which no Lidion mine can buy
No chemic art can counterfeit ;
It makes men rich in greatest poverty.
Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold,
The homely whistle to sweet music's strain;
Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent,
7^hat much in little — all in naught — content

Contentment gives a crown.
Where fbrtime hath deny'd it

Thoma$ Ford's Love*$ Labyrinth
Oh calm, hush*d, rich content.
Is there a being, blessedness, without thee ?
How sofl thou down*st the couch where thou dost

Nectar to life, thou sweet ambrosian feast

Maston^ajirat part of Antonio and MeUida,
Yet ofl we see that some in humble state
Are cheerful, pleasant, happy, and content :
When those indeed that are of higher state.
With vain additions do their thoughts torment
Lady Careto's Mariam.
How man*s desire
Pursues contentment ! *T is the soul of action.
And the propounded reason of our life.

Nabb*8 Tottenham C^urt
The mind*8 content
Sweetens all sufl^'rings of th* afilicted sense.
Those that are bred in labour think it sport,
Above the sofl delight which wanton appetite
Begets for others, whom indulgent fortune
Prefers in her degrees, tliough equal nature

Made all alike.

Nahb*$ Tottenham Court,

Each good mind doubles his own free content.
When in another's use they give it vent

Sir GUu Goooecap,
I swear, His better to be lowly bom,
And range with humble livers in content.
Than to be perkM up in a glistering grie^
And wear a golden sorrow.

Shaka, Henry VIIL

Poor and content, b rich and rich enough ;
But riches, finclcss, is as poor as winter.
To him that ever fears he shall be poor.

Shaka. OiheUa
My crown is in my heart, not on my head ;
Not deckM with diamonds, and Indian stones.
Nor to be seen : my crown is call'd content;
A crovm it is that seldom kings enjoy.

iihaka, Henry VL Pari III

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Best state, contentless,
Hatfa a distracted and most wretched bein|f,
Worse than the worst content

Shak$% Trntoik

Most miserable
Is the desire that*8 glorioas: blessed be those
How mean soe*er, that have their honest wills.
Which seasons comfort

ShaJ:$, Cymh.

He that commends me to mine own content,
C(Mnmends mo to the thing I cannot get

Shak9. Cymb.
Mach will alwajs wanting be
To him who mach desires. Thrice happy he
To whom the wise indulgcncy of heaven.
With sparing hand, but just enough has given.

Cellars and granaries in vain we fill
With all the bounteous 8ummer*s store.
If the mind thirst and hunger still :
The poor rich man *s emphatically poor.
Slaves to tlie things we too much prize,
We masters grow of all that wo despise.

The cynic hugs his poverty.
The pelican her wilderness ;
And *tis the Indian*s pride to be
Naked on firozon Caucasus:
Contentment cannot smart ; stoics, we see,
Make torments easy to their apathy.

O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see;
Content me with an humble shade,
My passions tam*d, my wishes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll.
We banish quiet from the soul;
T^ then the busy beat the air.
And misers gather wealth and care.

Dyer'i Grongar HiU,
O grant me, heav'n, a middle state,
(Neither too humble nor too great ;
More than enough for n.ature's ends,
With something Icfl to treat my friends.

Ifnfit for greatness, I her snares defy,
And look on riches with untainted eye
To others let the glittVing baubles foJl,
Content shall place us £ir above them all

VITiat tho' we quit all glittering pomp and greatness,
The busy noisy flattery of courts,
We shall enjoy content; in that alone
fs greatness, power, wealth, honour, all summed up.
PoweWs King of Naples.

Contentment, rosy, dimpled maid,
Thou brightest daughter of the sky,
Why dost thou to the hut repair,
And from the gilded palace fly ?
I've trac'd thee on the peasant's cheek;
I 've mark'd thee in the milkmaid's smi.e ;
I *ve heard thee loudly laugh and speak,
Amid the sons of want and toil ;
Yet in the circles of the great,
Where fortune's gif\s are all combin'd,
I've sought thee early, sought thee late,
And ne'er thy lovely form could find.
Since then from wealth and pomp you flee,
I ask but competence and thee !

Lady Mann^i
Life's but a short chase; our game — content
Which most pursued, is most compell'd to fly :
And he that mounts him on the swiftest hope,
Shall soonest run his courser to a stand ;
While the poor peasant from some distant hill,
Undanger'd and at ease, views all the sport,
And sees content take shelter in his cottage.

Cibber'i Richard III
Her poverty was glad ; her heart content.
Nor knew she what the spleen or vapours mcani

Contentment parent of delight.
So mucli a stranger to our sight,
Say, goddess in what happy place,
Mortals behold thy blooming face;
Thy gracious auspices impart.
And for thy temple choose my heart,
They whom thou dcignest to inspire,
Thy science learn, to bound desire;
By happy alchymy of mind.
They turn to pleasure all they find.

Oreen^s Spleen
The bliss of man (could pride that blessing find}
Is not to act or think beyond mankind
No pow'rs of body or of soul to share.
But what his nature and his state can bear
Why has not man a microscopic eye 7
For this plain reason — man is not a fly.
Say for what use were finer optics given
T* inspect a mite, not comprehend the hcav'n t
Or touch, if tremblingly alive all o'er.
To smart and agonize at ev'ry i>ore ?
Or quick eflHuvia darting through tlie brain.
Die of a rose in aromatic pain 7
If nature thund'rcd in his op'niug cars.
And stunn'd him with the music of the sphero.
How would he wish that heaven had lcf\ him stili
Tlie whisp'ring zephyr, an J tJie purling nil 7
Who finds not providence all good and wise.
Alike in what it gives and what denies.

Scope's Eswy cm M fit

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Honour und shame from no condition rise ;
Act well jour part, there all the honour lies.
Fortime in men has some small difference made.
One flaunts m ra^s, one flutters in brocade ;
The cobler aprouM, and the parson gown'd,
The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd.
*• What difl^er more," you cry, ** than crown and

1 n tell you, friend ! — a wise man and a fool.
You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk.
Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk.
Worth makes the man and want of it the fellow ;
rhe rest is all but leather or prunella.

Pope^$ Eatay on Man,
Cease then, nor order imperfection name :
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.
Know thy own point ; this kind, this due degree
Of blindness, weakness, h^ay^n bestows on thee,
dubmit — in this or any other sphere,
Secure to be as blcssM as thou canst bear.

Pope'M Essay on Man.

As in those domes, where Cffisars once bore sway,
Defac'd by time, and tott'ring in decay,
There in the ruin, heedless of tlie dead.
The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed ;
And wondering man could want a larger pile.
Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile.

Gddmmih's Traveller,
He, fairly looking into life's account.
Saw frowns and favours were of like amount ;
And viewing all — his perils, prospects, purse.
He said, "content; — His well it is no worse."

Happy the life, that in a peaceful stream.
Obscure, unnoticed through the vale has flowM ;
The heart that ne'er was chami'd by fortune's

Is ever sweet runtentment's blest abode.

lio now, from idle wishes clear,

I make the good I may not find ;
Adown tlie stream I gently steer.

And shift my sail with every wind.
And half by nature, half by reason.

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