M A D N E S S.
UT if a phrensy do possess the brain,

It so disturbs and blots the forms of things,
As fantasy proves altogether vain

And to the wit no crue relation brings: Then doth the wit, admitting all for true,

Build fond conclusions on those idle grounds ; Then doth it flie the good, and ill pursue ;

Believing all, that this falle spy propounds : But purge the humours, and the rage appease,

Which this distemper in the fancy wrought ; Then shall the wit, which never had disease,

Discourse, and judge discreetly as it ought: So, though the clouds eclipse the fun's fair light,

Yet from his face they do not take one beam ; So have our eyes their perfect pow'r of fight,

Ev'n when they look into a troubled Atream, Then these defects in senses organs be,

Not in the foul, or in her working might : She cannot lofe her perfect pow'r to fee,

Tho'mifts and clouds do choke her window-light. These imperfections then we must impute

Not to the agent, but the instrument ;
We must not blame Apollo, but his lute,
If false accords from her false strings be sent.

Sir yohn Davies. 1. O gentle son, Upon the heat and Aame of thy diftemper Sprinkle cool patience. 2. "T'is not madness That I have utter'd ; bring me to the test, · And I the matter will re-word, which madness Would gambol from.

Shakespear's Hamlet.

See

See that noble and most fovereign reason,
Like sweet bells, jangled out of tune, and harsh ;
That unmatch'd form, and feature of blown youth,
Blasted with exftasy.

Shakespear's Hamlet.
The king is mad; how stiff is my vile fense,
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge forrows ! better I were distract,
So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs ;
And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose
The knowledge of themselves.

Shakespear's King Lear. Surely we are all mad people, and they Whom we think are, are not ; we mistake those : 'Tis we are mad in fense, they but in cloaths.

Tourneur's Revenger's Tragedy. Why, fir, madness is not such a discredit,

As the age goes ; you know there are many ; Mad fashions; and what man but sometimes may

Be mad? are not your great men mad, that when • They have enough, will pawn their soul for a

Monopoly? befides mad Lords, what do
You think of ladies at fome time of the moon?
You may spell 'em in their names, madam : you
Have mad courtiers, that run madding after
Citizen's wives : The citizens are mad
Too, to trust them with their wares, who have been
So deep in their wives books before : your justice
of peace is sometimes mad too ; for when he
May see well enough, he will suffer any
Man to put out his eyes with a bribe : Some
Lawyers are often ftaik mad, aud talk wildly,
No man is able to endure their terms.

Shirley's School of Compliments.
Madmen fometimes on sudden flashes hit
Of fenfe, which seem remote, and sound like wit.
Sir W. Davenant On one that prophesy'd.

Twas

'Twas no false heraldry, when madness drew.
Her pedigree from those, who too much knew;
Who in deep mines, for hidden knowledge toils,
Like guns o'ercharg'd, breaks, misses, or recoils:
When subtle wits have spun their thread too fine,
'Tis weak and fragile like Arachne's line.

Denham.
M A N.
As budding branch rent from the native tree,

And throwen forth, till it be withered ;
Such is the state of man: thus enter we
Into this life with woe, and end with misery.

Spenser's Fairy Queen: Oh what is man, great maker of mankind !

That thou to him so great respect doft bear! That thou adorn'st him with so bright a mind,

Makit him a king, and ev'n an angel's pear! Oh what a lively life, what heav'nly pow'r,

What spreading virtue, what a sparkling fire, How great, how plentiful, how rich a dow's,

Dost thou within this dying flesh inspire ! Thou leav'st thy print in other works of thine,

But thy whole image thou in man haft writ:
There cannot be a creature more divine ;

Except like thee, it should be infinite.
But it exceeds man's thought, to think how high

God had rais'd man, since god a man became : .
The angels do admire this mystery,

And are astonish'd when they view the same. Nor hath he giv'n these blessings for a day,

Nor made them on the body's life depend : The soul, though made in time, survives for ay ; And though it hath beginning, fees no end.

Sir Jahn Davies. 1. We are men, my liege.

2. Ay, in the catalogue, ye go for men ;
As hounds, and greyhounds, mungrels, spaniels, curs,
Showghes, water-rugs, and demy-wolves are cleped
All by the name of dogs ; the valu'd file
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,
The housekeeper, the hunter ; ev'ry one
According to the gift which bounteous nature
Hath in him clos'd; whereby he does receive
Particular addition, from the bill
That writes all alike: And so of men.

Sbake/pear's Macbeth.
He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again !

Shakespear's Hamler. They say beft men are moulded out of faults ; And for the most, become much more the better, For being a little bad.

Shakespear's Measure for Measure. Oh my soul! here's something tells me that these Best of creatures, these models of the world, Weak man and woman, should have their fouls, their Making, life, and being, to some more excellent Use ! if what the sense calls pleasure, were our Ends, we might justly blame great nature's wisdom, Who rear'd a building of so much art and Beauty to entertain a guest so far Incertain, fo imperfečt; if only Speech distinguish us from beasts, who know no Inequality of birth or place, but Still to fly from goodness: Oh, how base were Life at such a rate ! no, no, that power That gave to man his being, speech, and wisdom, Gave it for thankfulness : to him alone, that Made me thus, may I whence truly know, l'll pay to him, not man, the love I owe.

Shakespear and Rowley's Birth of Merlin. Lo, here, the man Like a circle bounded in it self,

Con

Contains as much as man in fullness may :
Lo, here, the man, who not of usual earth,
But of that nobler and more pretious mold,
Which Phæbus self doth temper, is composid ;
And, who, though all were wanting to reward,
Yet, to himself he would not wanting be.

Fohnson's Cynthia's Revels,
1. These our times
Are not the same, Aruntius -2. Times ! the men,
The men are not the fame-'Tis we are base,
Poor, and degen'rate, from th' exalted strain
Of our great fathers. Where is now the soul
Of god-like Cato? he, that durft be good,
When Cæfar durft be evil; and had pow'r
As not to live his Nave, to die his master ?
Or where's the constant Brutus, that being proof
Against all charm of benefits, did strike
So brave a blow into the monster's heart,
That sought unkindly to captive his country?
O, they are fled the light ! those mighty sprits
Lie rak'd up with their ashes in their urns,
And not a spark of their eternal fire
Glows in a present bofom. All's but blaze,
Flashes, and smoke, wherewith we labour fo ;
There's nothing Roman in us : nothing good,
Gallant, or great: 'Tis true that Cordus says,
Brave Caffus was the last of all the Race.

Johnson's Sejanus. Man is á tree, that hath no top in cares, No root in comforts ; all his pow'r to live Is giv'n to no end, but t' have pow'r to grieve.

Chapman's

Bully D'ambois. Men are not good, but for neceffity ; Nor orderly are ever born, but bred. Sad want and poverty make men industrious ; But law must make them good, and fear obsequious.

Daniel's Civil War.

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